


i wish i could be strong without somebody there

by thedisassociation



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 71,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisassociation/pseuds/thedisassociation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana Lopez walked out on stage every night with Rachel Berry's voice in her head: "The only job you're going to have is working on a pole." If only the girl had known just how right she would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The truth is Santana, you can dish it out but you can't take it. Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe I am destined to play the title role in the Broadway musical version of Willow, but the only job you're going to have is working on a pole._

Every single night Santana Lopez strutted onto the stage of the divey strip joint she worked at, she heard the words of Rachel Berry ringing in her ears. She would take a deep breath, close her eyes, and curse both herself and her former classmate. She would shake thoughts of Berry, and her own wasted potential out of her head and do what she had always done best: blatantly flaunted her sexuality in ways that were beneficial to her.

It was never the life that Santana had wanted, but it was the one she had ended up with. She had planned on going to college and studying something like psychology or maybe accounting; anything she was good at and that could get her a job. Santana had even decided that she wanted to keep singing, just because it was the only thing that made her truly happy and allowed her the freedom to express herself.

Jose and Maria Lopez were happy for their mischievous daughter. Santana had always been a troublemaker, and they were proud of her when she announced her acceptance and subsequent plans to attend the college of her choice. Her mother had pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, telling her how proud she was of the girl. Her father had smiled at her tenderly, and told her that he always knew she would do great things, and that he would pay for her education. For the rest of the school year, she had walked down the halls of McKinley with her head held high, happy to continue torturing lesser beings secure in the knowledge that she finally had her parents' support instead of their disapproval and that she was finally going to get away from all the _Lima Losers_ around her.

Her happiness further grew when the Glee Club continued to perform well at competitions. Her senior year had the best one she'd had at that ridiculous excuse for a high school. The Club had recruited new members to sway in the background happily as she and her fellow seniors led the Club to ultimate victory at both Sectionals and Regionals. Santana had even started being openly nice to her teammates (or at least insulting them less), and when New Directions won Nationals, she had hugged every single one of them.

Santana was ready to ride the wave of happiness and contentment all the way through the final month of school and into her university life, until the Glee Club came home from Nationals, and her whole life fell apart.

As soon as she had walked through the door, a smile on her face and her overnight bag slung over her shoulder, she knew something was wrong. Everything was quiet, too quiet, and she could hear the faint sound of crying coming from the living room.

She had moved into the room slowly, dread settling into the pit of her stomach as she had seen her mother sitting on the couch. She was clutching a wrinkled piece of paper tightly in her hands. Santana's father stood at the window, staring outside silently.

" _Mami_ , what's wrong?" she had asked, darting her eyes between her parents.

Her mother had only sobbed, burying her face into the paper she held. Santana's father had turned around, a deep frown set on his face, and stared at his only daughter.

"Santana, is it true?"

Her brow had furrowed. "Is what true?" she had asked, her voice trembling slightly as she felt her heart jump into her throat. _They know._ A very short letter written but never sent would be her downfall.

"Don't play stupid, _mija,_ " he had growled at her. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Santana had just stood in the doorway of the living room dumbly, her body and her mouth frozen while her mind went into overdrive. _Oh, god, they know; they know; they know; they know._

She had finally managed to gather enough wits about her to realize that she needed to say something. The silence had stretched on for several minutes now. "It was just a joke, dad. We were just messing around."

Enraged, her father ripped the paper from her mother's grasp. He had started at the paper he held like it might burn him. " _Brittany, I'm ready to come out. I love you._ This is a joke to you, Santana?" he had screamed, his anger causing his daughter's eyes to fill with tears. "Do you think we're stupid?"

Santana had remained silent, staring at her shoes and watching as the pattern on them blurred.

Maria Lopez finally stood up. "Santana, look at me," she had whispered, waiting for her daughter to raise her head. "We can get you help. There are programs out there. You're just confused. That Brittany girl has just been putting ideas into your head," she had pleaded.

A silent tear had slipped out and Santana had gaped at her mother. "No, _mami,_ I don't need to go into a program. Brittany didn't do anything to me. She just made me happy," Santana had whispered as more tears began to gather in her eyes.

Her vision was blurry, but she had still been able to see the look of absolute disgust on her father's face. She had felt dizzy and nauseous. Her father had never looked at her like that, not once; not when she had been brought home in the middle of the night by the police for underage drinking at a party, or suspended from school for a week for beating up an underclassmen who had insulted Britney; not when he had caught her having sex in her bedroom with Noah Puckerman, or trashed their house completely after throwing her own underage party. He had looked at her with disappoint or frustration as he lectured her, but he had never looked at her like this. Jose Lopez had looked at his only daughter with what could only be described as loathing. "Get out," he had whispered, turning away from her.

"What?" had been the only word she could say, staring at her father's back.

"Get out," he yelled, whipping around and pointing towards the door. "Get out of my house."

Her mother had only sobbed loudly as she fell back onto the couch, muttering what sounded like a prayer.

Fresh tears had gathered in her eyes as she turned around and numbly walked to the door. She had walked out of the house she grew up and never looked back.

No, taking her clothes off for money had never been the life Santana Lopez had wanted. But it was the one she ended up with.

"That's your cue, kid," her manager muttered as one of the other girls walked past her.

The house music started up, and she shook her head, clearing it of any thoughts that might affect her performance. She always did well, and tonight would be no different. Words spoken at her in anger a lifetime ago rattled through her head, and she clenched her fists, trying to calm herself down.

Feeling the glare of her manager behind her, she sauntered out on to the stage to the sound of cheers and catcalls. As she wrapped one hand around the lone pole in the center of the stage, she looked out at her audience. There, sitting right in front of Santana Lopez, was the owner of the very voice that had haunted every day for four years: Rachel Berry.

The voice in her head snarled at her loud and clear: " _The only job you're going to have is working on a pole."_


	2. Chapter 2

Santana was careful to never look in Rachel Berry's direction, partly because she knew the girl's presence would distract her and partly because she wasn't entirely sure she was seeing things properly. She focused all of her attention on dancing, moving her body rhythmically against the pole on the stage. She had always known how to manipulate men into giving her what she wanted; she had been doing it since she was a teenager.

Santana was no stranger to the power of her sexuality and magnetism, and this night was like any other. She had her audience in the palm of her hand as she slid down to ground and practically slithered her way to the edge of the stage. She couldn't deny the feeling of power that using people gave her, the way she could tease men and give them just enough to feel satisfied while always wanting more. It was almost enough to make up for sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that was brought on by the knowledge that her former gleemate and rival may or may not have been watching her live out exactly what she had predicted (she was undecided on whether she was hallucinating).

She let her gaze slip once, and it was enough to send her reeling as she made direct eye contact with Rachel. The diva's face was neutral and if she felt anything at all, she didn't show it. With a growl, Santana ripped her gaze away and upped her game. The audience loved it. She wanted to revel in the brief feelings of control floating through her body, but couldn't bring herself to. She had resigned herself to her fate – that this was what she did now and it was all she had left. But normally, she was able to squash any self-loathing she might have possibly been possessed to feel. Thoughts would leak through, bitter words from her teenage years would leak through, but she could keep them down. Tonight, though, she felt Rachel watching her, and she felt dirty.

Her song ended, and Santana wasted no time in collecting her earnings and retreating from the stage, not casting any glances out towards to the audience like she normally did. She pushed past her manager, and began collecting her things.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" he asked her as he followed her to her station.

"I'm leaving. I'm done for the night," she told him, throwing a curling iron in her bag.

He scoffed. "No, you're not. You still have one more solo and a group dance. And I've got a couple clients who want private dances from you."

" _The only job you're going to have is working on a pole."_ flitted itself through her brain once again. Her thoughts were jumbled up, her neurons firing rapidly and she felt like she was suffocating.

Santana glared at her manager, trying to muster some semblance of control after being so rattled by what she was now convinced was a figment of her imagination.

"Not tonight, Mark. I'm going home," she finally managed to say, grabbing her duffel bag and heading towards the door.

Unfortunately, Mark had other ideas. He grabbed her arm and spun her around roughly. "You're not in charge here, Lopez. I am. You still have a good four or five dances in you tonight, so go get changed for your next number."

She ripped her arm away from him angrily. She felt remnants of her old self bubbling up and Santana almost punched him. Outwardly, though, all she could do was sigh. "I'm sick, Mark. I've been throwing up all day. I think it's the flu, so I'm probably contagious," she uttered.

Her manager stared at her long and hard, his face hard and unreadable. _Please just let me go home._

"Fine," he said coldly. "But I expect you back here tomorrow night, healthy. And you owe me, Lopez; you're going to make up tonight's dances."

"Whatever," she said, smirking at him, feeling like herself for the first time that night. Santana turned on her heel and stomped towards the back exit before he could say anything else to her. She stepped out into the cool night air of New York and felt goosebumps rise up on her arms.

The door slammed shut behind her, but she made no attempt to move. Rachel Berry was leaning against the opposite wall of the alley behind the strip club, and when Rachel's head raised up and Santana made eye contact with her for the second time, she knew for sure that she wasn't hallucinating. The blood rushed from her head and she felt dizzy. When she had left Lima, she had planned on never running into anyone from Ohio ever again, particularly one Rachel Berry.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, never breaking eye contact with the shorter girl.

Rachel frowned at her. "What are _you_ doing here, Santana?"

She felt herself growing angry – angry at herself, angry at Rachel, angry at life for being so fucking shitty to her that all she could do was cling desperately to a pole and pray for it to be over. She wanted to scream, but she bit her tongue. "I work here, obviously," she sneered, crossing her arms. "You looking for a job, RuPaul? Because I'm pretty sure there's a place that does drag shows just down the street."

Rachel's face contorted and she finally broke eye contact, turning to look down the deserted alley. Rachel shook her head and scoffed. Whatever treatment Rachel had expected, she obviously had not received it.

Santana wanted to smack the angry look off of Rachel's face right then and there, but she settled for glaring at her. It had been four years since Santana had left and her old life was leaking into her new one and she wanted to break something. _You did this to me,_ she wanted to scream, _you knew what would happen to me and you did nothing to help._ But Santana knew it wasn't true – no one could have known the path Santana's life would take and Santana had never allowed anyone to help her – and that just made her angrier, because while the _voice_ in her head telling her that she was only fit for the life of a stripper was Rachel's, the _thoughts_ were in fact, her own.

"One would think that kind of work would be better suited for you, Santana, given your experience," Rachel finally said, anger flashing in her eyes as she lifted herself up from against the wall and stormed off.

Santana's jaw dropped, and her body fell back of its own accord. She hit the door in the alley with a heavy thump. She raised her head to look at the girl walking away from her and watched her pause just before she reached the sidewalk, casting a weary glance behind her before she left the other girl standing alone in a dark alley in the middle of the night in New York City.

It was the first time that she had seen anyone from Lima, Ohio in four years, and the first thing she had done was stick her foot in her mouth. Or at least, that's what it felt like – like she was choking, like she was choking and drowning and kicking and screaming all at once.

In reality, she just stood up straight and walked home.


	3. Chapter 3

The second time Santana saw anyone from Lima, Ohio was two weeks after her run-in with Rachel. Having not seen the short brunette since, Santana had slid back into her normal routine. It wasn't very comfortable (her thoughts and her past still plagued her) but it was something she was used to, something she could stand much easier when she wasn't confronted with ghosts of Lima past.

When she ran into Rachel a second time, the irony was bitterly apparent to her. She had made it four years without seeing anyone from Lima, and suddenly she had seen Rachel twice in just a few short weeks. New York suddenly felt much smaller.

Santana was standing in line when it happened. She was waiting impatiently for the line to start moving again so she could order a latte when she heard a familiar voice calling out someone's drink order. She frowned and stopped glaring at the barista behind the register to find the source of the voice, and sure enough, at the other end of the long counter, stood Rachel, a black apron covering her front and her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Santana watched her interacting with customers, smiling and laughing as she prepared their drinks for them.

A voice brought her out of her staring, and she shook her head, staring ahead of her and finding the register-bound barista looking at her expectantly. "Miss? What can we get for you today?"

Santana didn't answer, she just silently turned on her heel and marched out of the coffee shop, not bothering to turn around and see if Rachel had noticed her. She walked a couple of blocks to a different coffee shop and decided that it would be her new regular café. The one she had been frequenting for months was suddenly unappealing to her.

She felt nauseous and uneasy. New York City had been her safe haven, her escape. It tortured her and it hurt her and she was haunted and so very angry at everything, but it was still better than the alternative. Granted, she wasn't clear on exactly what the alternative might be, but she knew she wasn't prepared to leave another life behind. Loose memories floated up into the forefront of her brain, and she didn't fight them.

"Santana, you can't just leave," he had hissed at angrily, leaning against the cluttered small table in his room. He shuffled some never-turned-in assignments from school years past away from the edge and hopped up onto the desk.

She had just glared at him from her perch on the edge of his bed, her eyes red and her face puffy from crying. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, Puck?" she had snarled.

"Just stay here, alright? School's almost over," he had answered, shrugging.

"And then what happens? What do I do then?" she had practically yelled at him.

Puck had paused then, unsure of how to answer her. "If you just stay here, San, we can figure it out," he had finally answered. "But just stay here, until we get it worked out, alright?"

Santana had crossed her arms, shaking her head. "And I'm sure your mom would just love that."

"At least she wouldn't have to worry about us hooking up anymore," he had told her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, hoping that she would laugh and roll her eyes at him like she normally did.

Instead, he had watched the anger slip from her face as she bowed her head to stare at the ratty carpet that had been in his room for as long as could remember. "I can't stay here," she had whispered, her voice so faint that Puck wasn't sure she had ever said anything at all. "There's nothing left for me here, Noah," she had muttered, using his first name in hopes that he would understand how serious she was about leaving.

Puck had frowned at her as she raised her eyes to look at him. Santana Lopez had only called him 'Noah' one other time in their entire lives – when she had crawled through his window at three in the morning and sobbed in his arms and told him that she loved Brittany. She had seemed so broken to him then and he had tried to make her feel better the only way they ever made each other feel better, with sex. And she had let him kiss him and let him fuck her and he tried to make one of his best friends feel okay again, but she had just cried even more afterwards. So Puck had settled for just holding her tightly and muttering that it would be okay, and she had looked up at him with watery eyes, and whispered, "No, it's not okay, Noah."

And, sitting across from her then, almost a full year later, he knew that he had already lost her, When Santana Lopez called him 'Noah,' it meant she was broken and he couldn't fix her, both because he didn't know how and because she wouldn't allow him to.

He had hopped off of the desk, and she had watched him warily as he sat down next to her on the bed. "We'll take care of you, San," he had told her.

And Santana had cried out suddenly. He hadn't needed to tell her who exactly 'we' was; she knew exactly who he was talking about. _The Glee Club._ The faces of her pseudo-family had flashed before her eyes and she had buried her face in her hands. She had wanted to tell Noah Puckerman to shut the hell up because he didn't know anything. Mostly, she had wanted to desperately to believe him.

Puck had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him and as she sobbed. Santana had wanted to trust him when he told her that the glee club would take care of her after her parents had kicked her out. Memories of how happy she had been during the months leading up to Nationals, memories of long rehearsals and girls-only nights, memories of laughter and fun and camaraderie had flitted through her brain and she had almost wanted to speak out and tell Puck that she would stay, that she would trust that they would help her.

" _You're just a bitch._ "

Other memories had come to the forefront of her mind then, taking over and twisting themselves around her until she could hardly breath: whole semesters spent reveling in anger and betrayal, stolen solos and backstabbing girlfriends, bitter rivalries and unrequited love, angry boyfriends and evil plots.

She had spent so much time fighting with and hurting the only people who would put up with her, and so little time just being a friend to them. Santana had stood up then, striding across the room and leaning against the wall. She had wanted to believe Puck, to trust him and to trust her gleemates, but it felt like a lie. She had made their life a living hell and she knew that they wouldn't help her. She had felt anger swell up in her chest. They had never helped her, she had told herself, and they weren't suddenly going to start.

She had torn them down, and now that she herself was torn down, Santana knew that there was no one left to raise her up. "No, Puck," she had said after several long moments where he had just watched her cry softly until she had eventually calmed down again.

He had stood up, crossing the room, and lifting her chin up so she would look at him. "We really would, Santana," had had told her, using her own first name so that _she_ would understand how serious _he_ was.

Santana had pulled her body away from him roughly, her face hard again. She had stalked across the room, putting as much distance between them as she could. "Are you going to help me do this, or not?" she had asked him.

He had shaken his head, resigned. "What do you need me to do?"

Santana felt a tear slip out of one of her eyes, sliding down her cheek and falling onto the wooden table of the coffee shop where she was sitting. She bit her lip, her throat full of what she could only assume were her organs trying to squeeze their way out of her body. She wiped away the tear angrily, and hated herself for thinking about high school; about Puck and his stupid mohawk; about the glee club and the people she had left behind. She took a sip of her drink, pulling a face when she found that it was cold.

As she pushed the cup away from her, another one was placed down in front of her and she looked up. Rachel's hair was out of its ponytail and hanging loosely around her face until she brushed one side of it behind her ear. She sat down across from Santana. "After sitting here for so long without touching your drink, I assumed it would be cold and that you would be in need of a fresh beverage."

Santana didn't say anything, didn't even touch the drink that had been put in front of her. She didn't think she could have said anything, even if she had known what she wanted to say. She could feel her heart pushing at the back of her throat and she almost threw up.

Rachel sipped her own drink like sitting there in front her former classmate was an everyday occurrence, like they hadn't exchanged angry words just fifteen days ago and like this wasn't only the second time they had seen each other since Santana had left Ohio. Santana hated Rachel for her nonchalance because all she could feel was what may have been a kidney pushing its way up her esophagus. "We always wondered what happened to you, Santana," she said gently, her face soft.

Santana hated Rachel even more, for being so calm and for forcing her to think of things that she had buried deep inside herself for a reason. She stood up quickly, her legs knocking against the table, tipping the drinks over. Coffee spilled everywhere, sliding off of the flat surface on to Rachel's jacket and she jumped up, a shocked noise emanating from her throat.

"Yeah, well, now you know," she spat out, trying to sound as strong as she could, but her voice was strangled and hoarse.

She walked out of the coffee shop as quickly as she could, deciding that she was just going to have to start making her own damn coffee at home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I own nothing, of course, except for a box of lemon cookies and a glass of tea. I'm just having fun playing with Ryan Murphy's characters. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story so far. A special shout-out to **snipoppers16** , and **MusicLover333** for being the only two to review the last chapter. You guys can have some lemon cookies and tea, haha. Also, there's a flyby Skins reference in here because I couldn't help myself.

Santana had gone to work the night after her coffee shop run-in with Rachel with a heavy heart. Sad memories had been pushing themselves to the forefront of her brain all day; well, some of them were happy memories (like winning Nationals her senior year), but the years between who she had been then and who she was now had tainted even her fondest memories.

Santana was early to work, that night. She was eager to forget her day, forget everything except money and sexuality and power. The other girls wouldn't be arriving for another couple of hours, and Santana wanted to relish the peace and quiet she could get in the club. While her apartment was peaceful and quiet, it was also small and suffocating and spending more time than necessary there made her feel like she was drowning (and maybe she was).

That evening, when she walked into the building and made her way through the tables and chairs up to the stage and behind it into the group dressing area, Rachel was waiting for her. The short brunette was sitting on the tabletop at her station, her legs swinging off the side, and her back leaning against the mirror. Her eyes were closed and she was humming a song the Latina didn't know. Santana stopped short, and was about to spin around and just walk out when Rachel opened her eyes and looked straight at her.

Santana felt anger surge through her, and she latched on to the familiar emotion. She ignored the fact that it seemed to be the only emotion she felt much these days. "What in the hell are you doing here? How did you get in here? Are you stalking me?" she demanded.

Rachel sat up straight. "I would assume that I came in the same way you did – through the front door," she snapped. "The man outside let me in, George? I told him I was considering applying for employment at this establishment."

"And are you?" Santana asked, flabbergasted.

"Of course not! I find the fact that you would even suggest such a thing to be highly insulting," Rachel gasped, and the Santana had to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking what it meant that Rachel would suggest such a thing about _her_. But Rachel's next words stopped her. "I came to see you."

Santana paused for a moment before she crossed her arms, settling herself into her familiar defensive stance. "I don't know why. We're not friends. I don't want you here," she told the other girl. "It's not my fault you keep popping up where I hang out, like some kind of freaking leprechaun looking for its gold. Newsflash, Berry: I don't have it."

Rachel scoffed at her before shaking her head, biting back a reply. "I'm not stalking you, Santana," she said. "I had absolutely no idea you would be here. How could I? No one knew anything about your sudden disappearance at the end of our senior year, with the exception of Noah, and all he would tell us was that you had left Lima and that you were 'taken care of.' You must admit that it's quite a coincidence that we've run into each other."

"Some coincidence, Manhands," Santana smirked. "Of all the strip joints in New York City, you expect me to believe that you just happened to stumble into mine? For what, a glass of water?"

Rachel bowed her head and stared at the floor. Santana frowned. "Noah told me where you were, and I didn't believe him. My natural curiosity regarding your whereabouts led me to come here myself and see if he was correct in his observations."

"Wait, what? How the hell would he know?" she asked angrily. "I haven't talked to him since I left," she yelled, watching with satisfaction as Rachel flinched slightly.

"He said that he saw you on the business website for this place," the other girl answered.

"What?" Santana screeched. "God, I'm gonna kill Mark! I told him not to put me up there," she continued to yell, kicking over the wastebasket next to the doorway she was still standing in. Anger bubbled in her chest. This whole thing, this whole running in Rachel 'RuPaul' Berry thing, had started because her manager had lied to her and pasted pictures of her all over the website for the club. She felt like the rage gathering within her was going to split her body down the middle, spilling out her blood and her anger and her sadness and everything she had left inside her. Santana pulled herself out of her head when she became aware that Rachel was watching her closely. She stalked over to her station, standing before Rachel with a pointed glare. "Get off my vanity. I need to get ready."

Rachel stayed tight-lipped as she hopped off of the top of Santana's station and looked at her watch. "While I admire your," she paused only slightly, searching carefully for her next words, " _dedication_ to your work, it is still daylight and I was under the impression that professions such as yours tend to start much later during the evening."

Santana sat her bag down on the ground and fell into her chair silently. She said nothing as she reached into her bag and pulled out the small bag that contained her makeup. She opened it and began rifling through it, looking for something invisible and imaginary in hopes that Rachel would take the hint and leave. When she glanced in the mirror and saw the other girl standing behind her, she scowled.

"Your tone and behavior tonight might lead one to believe they were unwelcome here," Rachel told her.

Santana just rolled her eyes, crossing her legs and continuing to rummage through her makeup bag. "Gee, I don't know why _one_ might think that, considering some _other_ one never said a damn thing about wanting you here in the first place."

Rachel sighed behind her and Santana almost felt guilty until she remembered where she was and who she was and what she was doing with her life and that it had all started in a small choir room back in Ohio. She felt the other girl place a hand on her shoulder, and her movements stilled.

"We were all worried about you, Santana," Rachel whispered. "Brittany was absolutely heartbroken that her best friend had left her. At least now, I can tell her that you're alive."

Santana felt a different emotion swell inside her then. _Brittany_. Sweet, sweet Brittany, who had always taken care of her and cheered her up and confided in her and laughed with her and kissed her and fucking believed in her when no one else did; sweet Brittany, who she had loved since she was twelve and who had broken her fucking heart and still been an absolute sweetheart about it; sweet Brittany, who she refused to think about because she was so ashamed that she had left without even saying goodbye to her best friend and letting her know that everything would be okay; sweet, sweet Brittany, whose very name brought tears to her eyes.

She felt Rachel's other hand rest across her shoulders and the girl squeezed them gently, trying to offer some manner of support. Santana hated her then more than any other time she had hated Rachel Berry. She hated her for making her think of Brittany and for practically stalking her all over the city (well, at least two places in the city), but mostly for being right about Santana all those years ago.

Santana ripped herself away from Rachel's grip on her shoulders. "You can't say a word about this to Brittany, to any of them," she cried, a few stray tears forcing themselves down her cheeks. Rachel opened her mouth, but Santana cut her off: "No, not a fucking word, Berry, do you understand me? I'll kick your ass all up and down fucking Broadway, do you hear me?"

Santana knew she sounded and looked hysterical, but she didn't care. No one could know that this was who she had become.

But Rachel didn't back down. "Santana, they would want to know what happened to you!"

"Know what? Know that they were right? That I'm a slut and that I'm a stripper and that the only job that I could get after my parents kicked me out was working on a fucking pole? Yeah, I'm sure that every last one of them would want to fucking know that everything they ever thought about me was exactly right!" she yelled, as her anger and her frustration got the best of her. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and curse and hit someone, but all she could do was shake and fail to stop the tears making their way down her face.

"Get out," she whispered. When Rachel tried to approach her, she held out her hand. "No, get out, Rachel. Just leave, please" she pleaded, hating herself for sounding so fucking broken. "Leave me alone," she muttered, turning away from the girl. Santana kept her head up, despite her tears, until she finally heard the door close. She buried her head in her hands and wept.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: So I think I might hate this chapter as much as I'm okay with it. I really struggled with it, and I'm afraid I may have ended up overworking it. It's about twice as long as my other updates, but I decided not to split into two chapters in the interest of progressing the story. Much of this is the backstory that I had originally intended to explore, but I'm not really sure I did it as much justice as I wanted to. But the Pezberry is finally starting to get somewhere, so I hope you all will pleased with that. I'm sorry if that part of the story isn't moving fast enough, but I don't want to force it.

Santana was pretty sure she had never really aspired towards much in life. She had always just sort of assumed that she would continue being awesome in her own bitchy way and that things would fall into place the way they were meant to. She knew that she hadn't always been a nice person, that she was snarky and bitchy and she picked fights over boys that she didn't really care about. But she had still thought, or at least, hoped, that maybe things would still be okay. It hadn't been easy being the closeted gay daughter of conservative homophobes, and it had been even harder to be so in love with her best friend, only to have the other girl love her as only a friend.

But Santana had been reluctantly hopeful her senior year. After all, these things happened in Lima, Ohio, but they didn't happen everywhere. She had believed that when she finally left, she could start over. She could go somewhere where no one knew Santana Fucking Lopez, and she could become any Santana she wanted to. Maybe she could be a proud lesbian, starting eating jicama and get a flat top; maybe she would meet someone new and fall in love and have someone actually love her back, the _real_ her. It hadn't been a solid plan, but it was something Santana could sort of look forward to.

Then her parents had kicked her out, had put her out on the street with just the bag she came back from Nationals with, which only had a couple of outfits in it, and a small amount of cash that she had withdrawn earlier that day. Later that night, when Puck had taken her to the store, she had discovered that they had cancelled her credit cards.

Santana had bit her lip and frozen when her card was denied, but Puck had swooped in and handed his own card over. She had looked up at him with a watery smile and thanked him. And he had just shrugged and asked if she was sure the clothes she had bought would be enough. She had merely nodded.

Back at the Puckerman home that night, Santana had eaten what she considered to be her last meal. Mrs. Puckerman's food wasn't the best, but if anything made her think of Ohio, it was crappy homecooked dinners spent in front of the television. Afterwards, the two had gone upstairs and Puck had helped her stuff the new clothes she had bought into her bag, along with a few toiletries and some odds and ends – the picture of her and Brittany as kids that she kept in her wallet, the necklace her father had given her for her fifteenth birthday, and a little rubber ducky that Brittany had gifted her during Nationals among them.

"Are you really sure you want to do this Santana?" he had pressed, taking her bag from her and sitting it on the ground next to him. "Like, I know shit's seriously messed up right now, but you should at least sleep on it first."

Santana had sighed wearily. Puck had been spouting out the same handful of sentences for a couple of hours. At one point, he had even tried to pull the whole "it gets better" crap on her, and she really had punched him them. It had just been in the shoulder, but it had been hard enough that it had shut him up for a good half hour. Even though she felt every bit the sad and lost gay kid, she had been determined to stay strong, or if nothing else, give off the appearance that she was strong. The idea that it could get better felt like a lie to her.

"I'm sure, Puck," she had told him. "I don't need to sleep on it, okay? I just need to get out of here," she had said quietly, her voice losing volume as it slid out from between her lips. She knew that if she had slept on it, her decision would probably be very different in the light of day, and she couldn't stand it. The first vestiges of suffocation had settled themselves in her lungs at the very thought of staying in Lima and having everyone find out what had happened. It was too much, and Santana had sunk down onto Puck's bed. "Please, Puck," she had pleaded.

Puck had run his hand over his face, unsure. The bad-ass persona he had adopted left him ill-equipped to deal with particularly heavy situations. His typical response to them was usually something well-intentioned but poorly executed. With Santana, with this situation, though, he hadn't even had any clue what to even attempt executing. He had known that this wasn't his decision to make; it was Santana's and he couldn't make her do anything she didn't want to (experience had taught him that.) He had briefly considered trapping her in his room, sealing the door and making her stay at least until morning, but he was sure she would just break the door down and he didn't want to have to explain _that_ to his mom.

He had sat down next to Santana on the bed and taken her hands, waiting until she looked at him. "It's your decision, S. But listen, if shit doesn't work out in New York, you can come back. Just call me, and I'll bring you back home, okay?"

Santana had nodded quickly, not trusting herself to speak. Puck had pulled an envelope out of his jeans and handed it to her. She had opened it to find a few hundred dollars inside, no doubt all the money he had saved up from his pool cleaning business and the odd jobs he picked up during the school year. She had thrust it back at him, protesting loudly that she wasn't going to take any more of his money.

But Puck had shrugged her off, and clenched her hands around the envelope. "Just take it, San," he had said, his voice firm. When she had started to open her mouth again, he had cut her off, "You can pay me back one day, okay. Or don't, whatever. Just fucking take the money."

Santana had nodded mutely, sliding the envelope into her jeans. She had stood before Noah Puckerman for a long moment before she hugged him. She had tried to take in everything about Puck in that moment, his scent and the way his arms felt around her and the stubble on his chin as it rubbed against her forehead, and she had felt tears sting her eyes as she pulled back from him. "Thank you," she had whispered.

"Yeah, the Puckasaurus takes care of his own," he had smirked, trying to alleviate some of the tension settling between them. "And don't forget what I said about coming home," he had called after her as she was walking through his bedroom door for the last time.

She hadn't turned around or said anything, but her heart had ached inside her chest, beating itself against her ribcage furiously. Santana had sobbed the entire time she sat in the bus station, feeling so utterly conflicted about everything and wondering if she was doing the right thing. When her bus had arrived, she had been the first one to board, knowing that if she waited any longer, she would change her mind and go back to Puck's house.

As soon as she had stepped off of the bus, she had wanted to call Puck and go home. _But to what?_ Lima, Ohio held nothing for her anymore.

She had found a horrible apartment in a horrible neighborhood and she had hated everything about it, but it was all she could afford with Puck's money. She hadn't been able to find a job immediately, being a recent high school dropout. She had already managed to get herself lost in the subway system several times, and each time she had grown more and more frustrated. She had wondered why she had even chosen to come to New York of all places. It had just seemed like the natural thing to do: New York was where everyone went to "make it," to gain independence and a career or to jump into the spotlight and the glamour of the city, or if nothing else, to escape. Santana had discovered, however, that escaping felt less like freedom and more like drowning.

It was on her tenth night in the city that she had started to seriously considering going back to Lima. It would mean admitting defeat, and wasting Puck's money, but whatever pipe dreams she had had about New York City were quickly vanishing. Just ten days and something had already worked its way into her heart and soul and poisoned her. Everything around her just felt wrong.

She had spent her twelfth night in New York sitting alone in a bar, drowning her sorrows and doubts in the bottom of a bottle. High school and its social hierarchy and its bitchy petty backstabbing and its ridiculous excuse for an administration hadn't prepared her for anything. She had never felt so out of her element, so utterly alone and unsure and unlike herself. She had felt raw emotion build up inside of her, and she gripped it and contorted it into a neat ball in her chest cavity, right underneath her heart. Twelve days had never felt so long.

A man had sat down next to her that night and bought her a drink. He had told her that she was beautiful and slid his card across the top of the bar towards her. He had introduced himself as Mark and he had told her that he would take care of her and she had been so desperate to believe in anything that she had followed him.

The next morning, Santana had wanted to call Puck immediately. But Mark had rolled over and slid an arm across her hips and pulled her towards him and she had sighed deeply. Calling Puck would mean that she had failed, that without her parents and her friends and the comfort of suburbia, she couldn't take care of herself. She had hated how lost she felt, but she had grasped at her stubbornness and let it weigh her down. When Mark had offered her a job later that morning, she had taken it.

The first time she had stepped on stage was the first time that she had heard Rachel Berry's angry voice yelling in her brain. She had tried to quiet it, but it always came back, echoing in her head and filling the silence of her New York life until it was the only thing she could believe anymore, the only thing she could hold on to. She had been unsure, then, if she was doing the right thing, if she had done the right thing at any point.

Santana would never admit to any kind of insecurity, though. She never had, not in Lima and certainly not in New York City. She had fought against her insecurities in Lima by becoming a bitch, embracing her role and reveling in it. She had convinced her parents to pay for a breast augmentation in hopes that it might get her some more attention, but her plan had backfired and she had been demoted. When people called her out on her attitude, she always enacted some form of revenge, and it always made her feel incredibly pleased with herself, but that still hadn't stopped her from feeling incredibly alone as soon as she got home.

New York had made her feel incredibly alone, too, but it was different. In Lima, there was always some hope of an escape; there was always this general feeling that you could get out of that small town and make something of yourself. All you had to do was survive, and as soon as you left Lima, your life would different in only the best ways. New York had taught Santana that that was a lie, that it was what small-town kids told themselves so they didn't have to deal with the harsh reality that most of them would never leave Lima, Ohio, and of the ones who did, only a small few would really _make something_ of themselves.

Angry words ringing in her ears told Santana that she was not one of those few.

So Santana had danced, convinced that this life was all that was meant for her anymore. What else was she supposed to have done, she had asked herself. She never managed to find a suitable answer. And four years after she had left Lima, Ohio and condemned herself to a life she had never wanted, but had secretly feared would be the one she would get, Santana was still taking her clothes off for money.

And after Rachel had finally left her alone in the group dressing room, sobbing uncontrollably until she was convinced that there was nothing left inside her that could possibly force its way out of her, Santana had put on her bravest face and danced twice as hard that night. It was all she could do.

Afterwards, as she was packing up her duffel bag, she felt emptier than she had been before the night started. All she could think was that someone knew, someone fucking _knew_ , and it was possible that by now, everyone back in Lima knew, too. A part of her hoped that Rachel might leave her alone now that she knew the truth about what had become of Santana Lopez. Let her tell those losers, she thought, if it meant that Rachel would stop flitting around her, being weirdly casual about everything.

But when she left for the night, Santana discovered that this wouldn't be the case, and a familiar sense of déjà vu settled in her stomach as she walked into the back alley to find Rachel leaning against the same spot she had been two weeks ago.

"The fuck, Berry?" Santana demanded, dropping her bag onto the ground, not caring if it was dirty and disgusting. She put her hands on her hips. "I'm starting to get serious stalker vibes from you, Treasure Trail."

She watched Rachel grimace at her use of yet another hurtful high school nickname. "Listen, Santana, I know that you're upset with me right now, but I feel like I have a duty to our former classmates to inform them of your whereabouts and general wellbeing, particularly Noah and Brittany. He told me at our last glee barbecue that he was considering hiring a private investigator to track you down, because he was so worried; we all were, Santana."

Santana just scoffed at her, feeling bile starting to rise up in her throat. She could imagine them worrying for all of a day, and then moving on like nothing was different. "Glee barbecue? So that's what you all do now, huh? Just live in your little suburban bubbles like everything is just fucking peachy?" she spat.

She could see it all play out in her mind. They would meet at someone's modest but nice house, probably Mr. Schue's. Quinn and Sam would cart over their two little blonde kids and be all sickeningly vanilla and cute, and Mike and Tina would bring along their sweet little Asian baby to play with Quinn and Sam's kids; the kids would run around playing games and swimming in the pool being adorable. Puckerman and Finnocence would handle the grill, drinking beers and admiring their own handiwork like they were the second coming of Bobby Flay. Brittany would sit on Artie's lap and the two would chat amicably with Lauren. Mercedes would make margaritas for the adults, catching up with Kurt and Blaine and wondering if there would be tater tots. The very thought of it all made Santana want to retch violently, to know that everyone was so fucking _happy_ while she was so miserable. "So you all just hang out and play happy families while the walls are cracking around you, just like all of our families did when we were growing up?" she practically yelled.

Rachel didn't move from her perch against the wall opposite Santana. She merely averted her eyes from Santana and stared at the ground. "We try to meet at least once a year, if we can get everyone back in town at the same time. We just spend the day together and touch base to see how everyone is doing. We were a family, after all," she told the other girl.

Santana scoffed and shook her head, turning to stare down the alley. Disgust settled across her features. "Please," she started. "We were a club, not a family. It's so nice of you all to keep playing pretend, though."

"We both know that's a lie, Santana," Rachel said, pushing herself off the wall and standing up straight. "We were always more than just a club."

Santana hated that Rachel was right. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she hated so much that Rachel Berry was standing in front of her and that she was so fucking right. Her face contorted and she couldn't stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. She thought that she didn't have anything left inside her after earlier, but here she stood, behind the divey strip club where she worked, crying again, and all because of Rachel Berry.

She didn't say anything for a long moment, her voice caught in her throat, and Rachel took a tentative step towards her. When Santana didn't do anything to stop her, Rachel moved to stand right in front of her. Rachel just stood there for a minute, silently watching Santana. Eventually she reached out and took one of Santana's hands in her own. "We were always your family, Santana."

Santana sobbed loudly and she hated herself for it. They were always a family, _her_ family, even when they were all hating each other and fighting and arguing. They had always been there for each other, even when they weren't necessarily getting along. And Santana hated that Rachel was absolutely right, but more than anything she hated that she had known that all along, that she had bet against them and lost.

She pulled her hand out of Rachel's and took a step away from her, trying to distance herself from the other girl in hopes that it might distance her from the truth. She picked up her duffel bag and slipped the strap over her shoulder, tears still leaking out of her eyes. "What do you want from me, Rachel?"

Rachel stopped short, obviously surprised at the question. "I – I don't know," she finally answered. "I wanted to see you, I suppose; to see if you were alright," she said, stepping back into Santana's space, "to tell you how much we all worried about you and hoped you were okay."

"Well, obviously, I'm just great. So you can run along and tell the children that everything's fine and you can all rest easy from now on," she said, trying to sound angry, but her heart wasn't in it, and she knew from the look on Rachel's face that the smaller girl could tell how tired she was. She was still crying.

"What happened to you, Santana? You were always angry, and you could often be overemotional and a bit weepy on occasion, but I can honestly say that I never thought I would see you like this," Rachel said softly.

"See me like what?" Santana asked in response. She wanted to smack Rachel, to push her and hurt her and make her feel all of the things she herself was feeling, but she couldn't find the strength to do so. "See me stripping?" she demanded. "See me doing exactly what you said I would be doing, the only thing I was ever going to be able to do?" she cried, her voice cracking.

Santana watched Rachel draw back slightly, shaking her head. "Santana, I never wanted this for you," she whispered, her face twisting.

She watched tears spring up in Rachel's eyes, and shook her head. "This is all I have," she mumbled.

Rachel moved quickly and Santana didn't know what was happening until Rachel had wrapped her arms around the taller girl's body and pulled her into a hug. Santana couldn't find the strength to push her away. She just stood there shaking within Rachel's arms.

"Why didn't you let us help you? We would have, Santana. You know that we would have helped you," she whispered.

"I don't know why," she answered into the top of Rachel's head. "I just don't know," she said again, weeping. Eventually, her arms moved against her will and she found herself returning Rachel's embrace. She continued to cry, resting her own head on top of the shorter girl's and letting herself be comforted for the first time in four years.


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel was crying with Santana and holding on to her with dear life. She felt wet tears leaking down her cheeks as Santana stood there, unmoving at first. When Santana wrapped her arms around Rachel and laid her head down on Rachel's, she sighed in relief. Santana had been so upset every time Rachel saw her, and that the girl was finally just _being_ was a respite.

Her mind wandered as they stood there. She had never expected that Santana would be doing _this_. Once upon a time, she had yelled at Santana that it was the only job she would have, but she was hurt and angry at the way Santana treated her. But Rachel had never meant for it to become true, to actually be the place Santana ended up.

She felt Santana start to pull away from her, and she wanted to squeeze her tightly and keep her there. Santana was hurting so much and it was so obvious and seeing the other girl in so much pain made her chest ache. She felt Santana put her hands on her shoulders and push lightly, trying to pry her off.

Rachel released her hold on Santana finally, but she didn't step away from her. She felt like she might finally be getting somewhere with the other girl, though she wasn't entirely sure where. All she could think in that moment was how broken Santana looked.

She wiped her eyes and stared at the other girl unsure of what to do next. Santana took a giant step back, and Rachel could see her sliding carefully constructed walls back into place and steeling herself against the world.

But Rachel was nothing if not persistent. She stepped close to her again and took her hand slowly. She felt Santana try to tug her hand away, but Rachel held on as tight as she could until she felt Santana soften again. She pleaded with her eyes for Santana to look at her. When Santana finally did, Rachel gasped at the intensity in them.

"Why are you doing this to me, Rachel?" she whispered, tears still in her eyes.

Rachel wanted to start crying again. Santana looked so defeated, so hurt and suspicious and sad, and Rachel felt a little piece of her heart break for the other girl. The Santana Lopez standing in front of her was so very different from the girl she had known in high school.

"I came here to see if you were okay, Santana. I came for Noah, so that I could tell him that he didn't have to wonder and to worry about you as much as he does, because you were alright," she breathed out. "But I'm seeing now that you're not okay."

Santana scoffed at her and tried to pull away again, but Rachel held on to her with as much strength as she had. She briefly wondered if she was gripping too hard and Santana might bruise.

"You can go home and tell Puckerman that I'm just fan-fucking-tastic, Berry. Go back and pay lip service to the fucked up version of family that you still play with the glee club and tell everyone that I'm okay, because I am."

"I'm not going to lie to them," she answered calmly.

Something akin to a sob escaped Santana's throat and Rachel was so surprised that she couldn't stop Santana from finally getting her hand away from. She grabbed her duffel bag and pulled out her wallet, stuffing all the cash she had on her into Rachel's hands.

Rachel tried to move closer to Santana again, realizing that physically being close to the taller girl meant that she stood a better chance of maintaining this highly charged conversation. But Santana was too fast for her.

"Give that to Puck and forget you ever saw me, Rachel," Santana muttered, starting to walk away from her.

Shaking her head out of its momentary daze, Rachel ran after her, grabbing her arm and tugging on it. "Santana, stop," she cried.

"No, _you_ stop, Rachel," Santana yelled, trying to get away from her again. "Just stop it! Stop acting like you care."

Rachel didn't let go. "I do care!" she yelled back. Santana was running so hot and cold and it was starting to wear on her patience. One minute she was vulnerable and heartbreaking and the next she was yelling and stomping away.

"No, you don't. You said it yourself: you're only here for Puck," Santana snapped.

Rachel sighed deeply. "I'm not just here for Noah. I'm here for you, too, Santana, because I care about you. Just because you left everyone except him without any explanation doesn't mean that we all stopped caring about you after you were gone."

"Oh, please, none of you cared about me when I was there. You expect me to believe you started caring when I was gone? There was probably a big party so everyone could celebrate that the bitch was finally gone. I'd bet money that you hosted it. Did you get drunk and make out with Kurt's boy again? Or did you just hang yourself all over Finn this time, too?"

Rachel knew Santana was purposefully trying to push her buttons, and she stopped herself from rising to the bait. It crossed her mind that _this_ Santana was more like the one she had always known, and it almost made her smile because it meant that maybe Santana wasn't so different after all, that she wasn't quite so broken.

"Actually, everyone was shocked when Noah told us that you left town suddenly and wouldn't be coming back. We were all extremely concerned - yes all of us, Santana. After we won Nationals, we all just assumed we would have the rest of the school year to enjoy each other's company," she said.

"But suddenly you were gone. And even though you could be very acerbic at times, you were still very much a part of our little glee family and we didn't know how to function the same without you," Rachel told her, sincerely.

She watched Santana go to say something, but the girl stopped when the door behind them opened. Rachel continued to hold Santana's arm in case she fled and she slipped the money she had been given into her pocket to return later. They watched as a man came out into the alley.

He saw them and his eyebrows furrowed. "What's going on, Lopez? You left almost an hour ago. You should be resting up for tomorrow," he said.

Rachel felt herself shiver uncomfortably when he turned his gaze to her and raked his eyes over her body appreciatively. Santana just stood there, seemingly shocked, and if Rachel had to venture a guess, it would be that she was unprepared for someone from her past to meet someone from her present. Or maybe it was because the man in front of them seemed like a sleaze.

"And who is this? A friend of yours? he asked, still blatantly checking Rachel out.

When Santana didn't say anything, Rachel jumped in for her. "Yes, I'm an old friend of Santana's. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to be leaving," she said, not bothering to wait for him to respond.

She tugged on Santana's arm as she walked away, pulling the other girl with her. She could feel how tense Santana was, and she slid her hand down her arm to hold her hand again. Rachel felt her relax slightly, and she squeezed her hand. She felt a small squeeze back, and it was so brief that she wondered if she had imagined it. But then she felt it again, a little stronger this time. A small smile played at her lips.

Rachel hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. She pushed Santana into the backseat quickly, expecting the girl to try and stop her, but she didn't. Rachel slid in behind her gratefully.

Santana didn't say anything to her. She just stared out the window at the city, and while her silence and demeanor were worrying to Rachel, the fact that Santana hadn't relinquished her hold on her hand was comforting.

When they reached her apartment building, Rachel pulled Santana out behind her and paid the driver with some of Santana's cash that she had stuffed in her pocket earlier. Her billfold was in her purse and to get it out would mean that she would have to let go of Santana, and to do that meant that she might not be able to keep her there.

Rachel led her to her apartment and sat the girl on her couch. Satisfied that Santana might stay – she had come this far, after all – Rachel gently let go of her hand and went to the kitchen to brew a small pot of coffee.

She leaned against the counter while the coffee maker did its job and let out a deep breathe she didn't realize she had been holding. Her eyes felt heavy and the late hour started to catch up with her. Rachel glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was about four in the morning. She frowned, knowing that she had to be at work in six hours.

She hoped that the coffee would keep her awake so that she and Santana could keep talking, well alternately talking and yelling at least. The push-and-pull was exhausting, but she knew that if she didn't keep pushing Santana now, while she had her in her apartment seemingly willing to open up, she might not get another chance.

Truthfully, she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing. In high school, she and Santana had fought more than they had done anything else. But something about seeing Santana now, after four years of wondering what had happened to her, made her chest constrict.

Rachel had always thought that Santana would be okay, wherever she went and whatever she did, because Santana Lopez had always been strong. She had taken no prisoners and given no quarter. But the girl out on her couch? She was angry and hurt and sad and ashamed and Rachel wanted nothing more in that moment than to see Santana be okay.

She prepared two mugs of coffee, each with a splash of cream and sugar and carried them carefully back into the living room. Santana was propped up on the couch, her back leaning against the armrest and her head resting against the back of the couch. Her legs were pulled up against her chest and her arms were loosely resting in her lap. Her eyes were closed.

Rachel stopped and just watched her for a moment, wondering if she was asleep. She bit her lip, debating whether or not she should wake the girl or just let her sleep. She walked into the room and sat both of the mugs down on the coffee table.

Rachel just stood there, staring at her. Santana didn't stir when she had set the mugs down and her breathing pattern was deep and slow. Santana had definitely fallen asleep.

The other girl sat down on her own coffee table and studied her. Santana was still done up from working. Her eyes were smoky and her eyeliner was thick; her hair was styled and fell in curls down past her shoulders. She was still as beautiful as she had always been, but the longer Rachel watched her, the more she worried.

Rachel could see deep circles set under her eyes and her mouth was set in a strong line. Santana was thinner than she had been in school, and Rachel wondered if she was eating right. She looked so small, so weak, curled up Rachel's couch, and Rachel wanted to pull her up and hug her again.

She had thought initially that Santana's hands were just resting in her lap, but looking closer, she could she that her hands were clasped tightly and her fingers were interwoven and Rachel wanted to pry them apart and give Santana both of her hands to hold instead.

Taking a deep breath and praying that she would wake up before Santana, so that the other girl couldn't sneak out and leave, Rachel gently managed to coax the sleeping girl into a lying position. She took off her shoes carefully so that she didn't wake her. Santana curled into herself as Rachel covered her with a blanket.

Rachel started to walk towards her bedroom, yawning as she walked and hoping that Santana would still be there in the morning.

A soft voice drifting up from behind her made her stop. "Thank you," she heard Santana whisper. Rachel smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter taught me that I like kind of like Rachel's POV so I decided to stick with it. I hope you all don't mind the switch, and while I haven't written the next chapter, I plan to go back to Santana's point of view after this. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Your encouragement means so much to me and it really does help me write. - Crystal

The last chapter taught me that I like kind of like Rachel's POV so I decided to stick with it. I hope you all don't mind the switch, and while I haven't written the next chapter, I plan to go back to Santana's point of view after this. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Your encouragement means so much to me and it really does help me write. - Crystal

 **chapter seven**

Seven a.m. came way too quickly for Rachel's taste. When her alarm went off, she had immediately awoken, cursing everything about the early hour. She wanted to throw her clock across the room. While she wouldn't normally mind waking up so early, the fact that she had only gotten about three hours of sleep was weighing her down. All of the tears she had shed the night before hadn't helped her morning demeanor – her throat felt raw and her sinuses felt full. She could feel the beginning of a headache starting to creep across her head as she slowly rose out of her bed.

She quickly grabbed her cell phone and dialed the coffee shop she worked at. She practically begged her manager to let her take a sick day, and he had groaned heavily. But Rachel's throat was gravely and she sounded just a tad stuffy, and that seemed to be enough for the man. Well, that and the fact that she had not-so-subtlety informed him of the health risks associated with a possibly contagious worker coming into contact with food and beverages.

Rachel took a deep breath, absently wondering if she had any cold medicine. The fog of the morning lifted off of her slightly and she shot out of her room and down the hall. She had almost forgotten that Santana Lopez had fallen asleep on her couch and she needed to make sure the other girl hadn't left.

Frowning, Rachel's hands settled on her hips and she cleared her throat.

Santana was sitting up, her hair sticking out at odd angles and her makeup smeared. She was slipping on her shoes when Rachel walked in, and at least she had the good grace to appear slightly guilty when Rachel walked in, though the smaller of the two couldn't tell if she felt guilty for wanting to leave or just for getting caught in the act.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Rachel demanded.

Santana's eyes darted around briefly and she finished pulling her shoes on. She ran a hand through her hair before looking up at Rachel. "I – I didn't want to overstay my welcome, I guess," she said.

Rachel stepped further into the room and sank down on the couch heavily. "I would hardly call three hours of sleep overstaying, Santana. You were trying to leave before I got up, and don't bother trying to deny it," she told Santana, leveling a pointed glare at her.

She was half-afraid that Santana might snap at her and just walk out, but she was relieved when Santana just shrugged and leaned back against the couch next to Rachel. Rachel felt Santana shift slightly until she was comfortable, and Rachel was pleased to note that Santana's idea of a comfortable position involved leaning against her slightly. Perhaps all wasn't lost.

"I heard you talking on the phone, calling out of work. You're really freaking loud, Berry," she muttered, "even when you sound like you swallowed a bunch of rocks."

Rachel smirked. "Yes, well, I find it to be of the utmost importance to speak with absolute clarity and a strong tone, even when one does sound like one has swallowed several rocks. If anything, it is more important to properly enunciate during those times, so that whomever one is speaking to will be able to comprehend what one is saying through the collection of pebbles in one's throat."

She heard Santana groan next to her. "God, are you always on? Do you have an off switch? Is there a button I can push that will make you stop talking like that?" she groaned, nudging Rachel with her elbow. Her brows furrowed and her eyes slid shut.

Rachel couldn't help but chuckle at how exasperated Santana looked in that moment. The truth was, yes, she was always on. Even when she was exhausted and worried and consumed by thoughts of the girl sitting next to her, she was still on. Her couch was ridiculously comfortable and she wanted to shut her eyes and just drift off right there. But she was still _on_. It was just who she was, who she had always been.

Santana's stomach grumbled and she laid a hand on top of it.

"Are you hungry?" Rachel asked.

Santana shook her head slowly, but her stomach betrayed her by growling again. "No," she muttered.

Rachel sighed and pulled herself up into a sitting position, stretching as she did so. Santana didn't move when she stood up, and when Rachel put a hand on her shoulder, she jumped and her eyes flew open. Unfazed, Rachel held out her hand to the other girl. Santana just stared up at her, and Rachel could feel awkwardness settling over them, the unresolved events of the previous night seeming to catch up to both of them in that moment.

Rachel watched as several different emotions flickered over Santana's face, and she bit her lip. Santana may have thought she was hiding herself well, or maybe she didn't – Rachel couldn't say – but either way, she could see every different emotion and feeling the other girl had as it settled on her features and then flitted away as another one replaced it. Tension was starting to creep through the room, rising up the walls from the baseboards, meeting the ceiling and falling into the center of the room like smoke, and she could see the _exact_ moment that Santana panicked, and she knew she had to stop it.

Rachel reached down and let her hand rest on Santana's knee, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm going to make some breakfast, okay?" she said softly. "Why don't you use the bathroom and freshen up?"

She didn't give Santana a chance to object, even though she could tell Santana was about to say something. Rachel turned away and walked into the kitchen resolutely before she could even start protesting. Rachel shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

As she started gathering supplies, she kept her ears open. Several minutes passed in silence until Rachel finally heard the door to the bathroom open and close. A rush of air left her lungs and she was so relieved that she couldn't stop from humming lightly to herself. Her throat was still slightly raw, but she preferred the expression of a positive emotion to complete silence.

Rachel was layering pancakes onto two different plates when Santana finally came into the kitchen. Rachel was pleased to note that she had taken her shoes back off. Her face was clear of makeup, and Rachel couldn't help the worry that built up in her at the sight of Santana. Her eyes were red and she was pale; the bags under her eyes were even more noticeable and her mouth seemed to be permanently settled into a frown. Santana was fidgeting nervously.

"I don't even know why I'm still here," she breathed out honestly.

Rachel didn't know what to say to her – though she had some ideas, she didn't want to overstep her bounds by trying to speak for the other girl – so she just continued stacking up the vegan pancakes she had made. She gestured for Santana to take a seat at the counter while she spread butter on top of the pancakes and covered them in syrup.

Santana sighed as she plopped down on a stool. She seemed dissatisfied at her lack of answer but Rachel didn't want to press anything. She was blunt and upfront about things, but her worry for Santana overtook any ideas she might have had about pushing things too far; she didn't want them to break.

And so they ate in silence, each with their own thoughts and the tension was swirling around them and Rachel almost had a hard time swallowing because the air was so thick. She just tried to focus on eating, because she wasn't quite sure what to do at that point. If she pushed too hard, Santana would run (she had already shown that to be true), but if she didn't press the issue, Santana would leave and probably try to avoid her just because of the tension and awkwardness sitting between them.

She felt the headache that she had first woken up with start to build back up again. She wondered if it was supposed to be this hard to help someone, to help someone who was so obviously hurt and jaded. She wondered if it was supposed to feel like this - if it was supposed to feel so heartbreaking to be in the presence of someone so heartbroken, if she was supposed to feel her insides twisting and her head spinning and her heart pressing against her ribcage every time she saw Santana's downcast eyes. Rachel had always been compassionate and empathetic, but this felt so extreme - like she might be breaking right alongside Santana. _Is it supposed to be this hard?_

She was about halfway through with her breakfast when she glanced over and saw that Santana had barely even touched her food. Watching her closely, seeing how tired she looked and seeing how her mind was reeling, probably trying to find ways to get out Rachel's apartment as soon as possible, Rachel knew that it didn't matter. It didn't matter if it was hard, because she couldn't just stand by and watch this happen; she didn't want to. She just wanted Santana to be okay.

Rachel reached out and placed her hand on Santana's forearm. The girl looked up at her questioningly, her eyes distant and watery. "Please eat, Santana," she said softly. " _Please._ "

She watched Santana look back down towards her plate as her fork dropped from her grasp and Rachel grimaced when it hit the plate with a loud clatter. She watched Santana's eyes close and her face crumple and Rachel didn't know what to do.

A feeling of familiarity slid through her as she slid her hand down to grasp Santana's, lacing their fingers together. She watched Santana try to take a deep breath, but it was shallow and shaky. She squeezed her hand. "Santana, it's just breakfast. They're just pancakes," she muttered carefully.

Santana sniffled. "You lied last night, you know," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Rachel frowned, trying to remember everything she had said last night, but nothing akin to a lie came to her. She had only told Santana the complete truth. "What are you talking about?"

Santana shook her head, still refusing to look at her. When Santana carefully extracted her hand from Rachel's, the shorter girl felt her heart drop. "You said we were old friends," Santana whispered, "but that's not true. We were never friends."

Rachel pursed her lips together and took a long look at Santana. "That is true, Santana. We spent most of our youth bickering with each other. We weren't friends, but we weren't _always_ enemies, either. After you joined the glee club and started letting yourself actually enjoy it, our dynamic brightened considerably. We hardly ever fought during our senior year," she said earnestly, letting her hand rest on Santana's shoulder.

Santana was shaking and Rachel watched tears force their way out of the girl's eyes. "I was so mean to you, and you – you just made me pancakes," she whispered.

Rachel frowned, unsure of exactly how breakfast had led to crying. Rachel couldn't stand it, though. The shear force of Santana's emotions and the raw intensity with which she felt them was infectious, and it made Rachel want to cry with her.

She put her hand to Santana's cheek and gently moved it until she was able to make the other girl look at her. "You _were_ really mean to me, sometimes," she started, watching Santana's face fall further, "but I was mean sometimes, too. We all were, every last one of us. No one is perfect all the time."

Santana just shook her head, tears still slipping down her face, running into Rachel's hand and getting it wet. "I was the worst, Rachel. I was always the worst."

Rachel stood up, shaking her head. Her headache had intensified tenfold. "Santana," she said, "that was years ago, okay? It feels like a lifetime ago."

She pulled Santana up with her, grasping both of her hands firmly. Santana just stared at the floor, still crying, and Rachel leaned down to catch her eyes. "It doesn't matter anymore, Santana. What matters is this, okay? This - right here, right now," she said, firmly, slipping closer to the crying girl and raising her chin. " _This_ is what matters, not some ridiculous high school drama that happened when we were both histrionic teenagers."

Santana didn't say anything, she just buried her head in her hands and Rachel could see her trying to stem the fresh round of tears trying to burst out of her. Rachel remembered how often Santana would cry in school, would just break down in hysterics at sometimes ridiculous things, but this was completely different.

This was real heartbreak. This was real sadness and fear and hurt and pain, so much pain that Rachel didn't know if she could even handle it all. And she realized that she had been underestimating Santana, because while she was in so much pain and she was hurting so much, she was still standing. She remembered thinking the night before how strong Santana had been in high school and how weak she seemed now, but standing in front of her, one hand still cupping the girl's cheek while the other held Santana's hand while she cried openly in front of her, Rachel realized that she was wrong. Santana was still strong, to be standing in front of her, hurting so much, and to even be standing at all showed that she had more strength than Rachel had given her credit for.

The realization washed over her and it made her hopeful that Santana could get through this. The sudden burst of something like optimism spread through her and she wrapped her arms around Santana's midsection. She had a moment of déjà vu, but she didn't care because holding Santana just seemed like the right thing to do.

Rachel rubbed her hands up and down Santana's back, whispering words of encouragement to her as she held her, telling her that it would be okay and that she could get through anything (and Rachel sincerely believed every word of it.)

Eventually she felt Santana calm down again. She pulled back just slightly and wiped the residual tears from Santana's cheeks, smiling at her gently. "Come on," she whispered, keeping one arm around the girl as she pulled her through the living room down the hallway.

"Where are we going?" Santana rasped quietly, once again letting herself be pulled along by Rachel.

"We did not acquire nearly as much sleep as we should have last night, and so I thought that perhaps we might try to take a nap," Rachel said, pulling them into her bedroom.

"No, Rachel, I just want to go home," Santana objected.

Rachel sighed. "Santana, just lie down and get some sleep, okay? We're both obviously very tired," she told her, pulling back her comforter and top sheet. She took advantage of the fact that she still had Santana within her grip and physically pulled the girl towards the bed until her knees hit the edge and she sat down. Santana didn't move, and Rachel rested her hands on the sitting girl's shoulders. "Think of this as you paying me back for not eating the delicious pancakes I took precious minutes of my life preparing for you," she joked, happy when Santana's lips quirked and her eyes rolled.

She walked around to the other side of the bed and slid into it, sighing happily as she snuggled into her blankets. When Santana still didn't move, Rachel leaned over and tugged on the back of her shirt.

Santana didn't react for a long moment, and Rachel could see her thinking. She wiggled around a little bit. Rachel was learning that letting Santana sit quietly for too long was a bad move: Santana seemed to get pulled too far inside her own head until she couldn't handle her own thoughts and she fled, both her emotions and whatever room she was in. Rachel was about to say something to the girl, but just as she opened her mouth, Santana slid into bed, pulling Rachel's blankets up underneath her chin and twisting a little bit until she was comfortable.

Her back was facing Rachel and she let her hand drift across Santana's shoulder blades, rubbing her back comfortingly. She felt sleep tugging at the edges of her consciousness and wasn't able to fight it. Rachel was vaguely aware of Santana moving again and she felt warmth settle in close beside her until she couldn't fight sleep anymore.

When she woke up later that day, she knew that all the progress she had made was lost. Santana was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Santana stared at her ceiling silently, willing it to just drop desperately needed answers down on top of her. She sighed and flung an arm over her eyes, squirming as she lay on the couch in an attempt to get comfortable. She had left Rachel's apartment hours ago, and even though she was tired, she hadn't been able to sleep since she'd been home. She'd already called out of work, and while Mark was displeased, he was willing to give her the night off when she promised to make it up to him.

She halfheartedly wondered if she should have just stayed at Rachel's. The girl's bed had been so relaxing and when Santana had settled against her, it had taken every ounce of willpower she had to stay awake. She had watched Rachel's chest rise and fall with each breathe she took and the steady movement almost lulled her to sleep, but she had fought it as much as she could, wondering what on earth she was doing in Rachel Berry's bed.

Of all the people to find her, it just had to be Rachel freaking Berry, a girl she had always tortured and conspired against and who had only been incredibly nice to her since tracking her down. Rachel had been sweet and caring after their first encounter and Santana wanted to hate her for it.

But it just felt so nice, to lie there next to Rachel Berry, to watch her breathe and to see her looking so calm and peaceful. It made Santana's heart hurt and her lungs freeze up until she felt like she couldn't breathe anymore. She felt tears gather in her eyes and it seemed so unfair to her that she should feel so nice in that moment and still feel like crying.

Santana had slid away from her then, sniffling and getting out of bed as quietly as she could. She couldn't do this. Bile rose in her throat and she thought she might vomit. She couldn't stay there and let Rachel be nice to her and pry her heartache out of her body. And she had no doubt that Rachel would do exactly that, somehow – she had already managed to get Santana to open up, just a little, in small pieces, and it felt so wrong and so right to release some of her sorrow. But Santana couldn't give those pieces away, because they were all she had left to cling on to. She had cried then, as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her bag and walked out of Rachel Berry's apartment.

Her own apartment wasn't nearly as nice as Rachel's and her couch was old and lumpy and she couldn't get settled. She remembered Rachel's bed, so large and warm; Santana on the other hand, didn't even have a bed.

Hours had passed and all she had managed to do was cry and she was angry at herself for being so emotional in front of Rachel and letting the other girl try and take care of her, for crying and yelling and hurting and most of all, for finding some comfort there, in Rachel's apartment and in her arms.

Someone knocked at her door, but she didn't move to answer it. It was probably one of her neighbors, come to bother her about something trivial. The man next door kept trying to proposition her and she hadn't been able to get him to back off. She just rolled her eyes when another set of knocks reached her ears, louder this time.

She heard the door open and she jumped up, looking wildly around her for something to throw at whoever was in her apartment. She had just picked up the lamp when she saw who had entered her living space. She set the lamp down harshly.

"What the fuck, Berry? First you stalk me and now you're breaking and entering?" she demanded.

She expected Rachel to look sheepish, but the girl just crossed her arms. "The door was unlocked, Santana. I would hardly call that breaking and entering," she answered.

Santana just scoffed at her because who the hell did she think she was to just walk right into her apartment. "Well you certainly weren't invited in, that's for sure. You're damn lucky that I didn't deck you with that lamp on sight," she snarled, angering building up in her stomach.

"Yes, and you're damn lucky that I am even here at all, Santana!" Rachel snarled back at her, and she took a step back, not expecting Rachel to answer her so harshly.

"Like I said, no one invited you," Santana hissed. "How did you know where I live anyway? Or is that one of your many leprechaun secrets? Should I go hide my gold?"

Rachel scoffed at her, and Santana smirked in response. Rachel had been slow to anger in their last few encounters, and Santana was happy that the other girl was finally starting to show her claws. She knew she was being mean, but she didn't care anymore if it would get Rachel to finally just leave her alone. It was a defense mechanism she had perfected over the course of her life, and while she knew it wasn't healthy, she didn't particularly care right then because Rachel was staring right at her and it was making her skin crawl.

"I was able to get your address from that bouncer at the club. I also learned that his name is Thomas. We're starting to become fast friends due to the high rate at which you keep running away from me, Santana," she said.

Santana crossed her arms over her chest. "And yet you still won't take the fucking hint."

"And yet you still fail to understand that no, I am not going to take your less-than-subtle hint," Rachel shot back, nodding her head to herself afterwards and raising it strongly in defiance.

Rachel's conviction unnerved her slightly and she turned around, refusing to face the girl as her exhaustion caught up with her and her face fell. "Damnit, Berry, why won't you just take the freaking hint and leave me alone?" she asked, her voice softer now.

She felt Rachel moving behind her and suddenly the other girl was right behind her, sliding a hand down her back and letting it rest at the small of her back. Santana swallowed loudly. She could feel the heat radiating off of the body behind her and it threatened to smother her.

"Because I don't think that's what you really want, Santana," Rachel whispered and Santana shivered because her voice was too close to her, too soft and too kind and too knowing and just too much.

Santana felt her flight response kick in and she wanted to stomp out, to yell curses at Rachel and scream until her throat was raw. But suddenly warmth was spreading across her back as Rachel's hand began to move, lightly running up her back. She couldn't make herself move. It felt so lovely that she could barely find it in herself to remember how to breathe.

"You don't know me," she whispered.

Rachel's hand never stopped dancing across her back. "No," she whispered back, "but I'd like to. I'd like to know who you are now and what made you this way. It would be nice to just know you, Santana. I think it would be nice for both of us."

Santana had to move away from the other girl then because she couldn't make her lungs work properly. She didn't know what to say. The sincerity with which Rachel spoke ripped through her veins and she didn't know how to react, didn't know how to answer because no one had ever wanted to know, not in this life.

She shook her head when Rachel moved towards her again. "I think you want to tell me these things," she heard Rachel say. "I think you have so many thoughts and feelings swimming around inside you and that you would really like to get some of them out. And I think you're scared, because you feel so deeply and you don't know what to do with it all. So you let yourself be comforted until you can't take it anymore, and then you run away."

Santana couldn't say anything. All she could do was try to keep breathing, but it was proving a struggle. She knew that Rachel was right and she couldn't stand that Rachel had just walked into her life and just _known_. Her breath was shallow and came in short gasps. Her legs gave out and she sank to the ground.

She felt Rachel sink down near her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and embracing her from behind. "Breathe, Santana," Rachel whispered in her ear.

"I didn't want this," Santana gasped out, trying to catch her breath. "I never wanted it to be like this. But there was nothing else I could do," she sobbed, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. She raised her hands to her chest.

"You're starting to hyperventilate, Santana. You need to calm down," Rachel answered. "Focus on breathing."

Santana closed her eyes and tried to find clarity around her. She could feel Rachel pressing against her back and she tried to focus. Rachel was taking long deep breathes, and Santana tried to match them as best she could. Frustrated, she slammed her palms against the floor, because here she was again, breaking down in front of Rachel Berry and she wanted to just fucking loathe everything about it but Rachel was still whispering in her ear and breathing deeply and she found it impossible.

It took several more minutes for her to calm down, but eventually she could feel her lungs filling up with oxygen and she was starting to catch her breathe. She sat there for a long moment, just breathing, unsure of what to do, what to say. Rachel was still pressed against her and god, it just felt _nice._ Santana wanted to reach out and grab that feeling and hold it close and never let go.

"I – I don't know what I'm supposed to say," she eventually muttered.

Rachel let go of her and she felt like she was starting to sink again. When Rachel grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, she didn't let go.

They sat on the couch next to one another, and Santana refused to meet Rachel's eyes. She was still holding on to her hand for dear life, but she refused to give Rachel the satisfaction of seeing how much she truly needed it.

"Well, why don't you start with something simple? How do you feel right now?" Rachel asked.

Santana made a sound of disbelief in her throat. There was nothing simple about how she felt.

"Okay, that was possibly bad form on my part," Rachel said, and Santana glanced at her. She was biting her lip. "Tell me about the night you left, maybe?"

Santana looked away again, questioning whether or not she really wanted to do this, if she could just take the last few days away, fuck, the last few minutes, and kick Rachel out. She could threaten to call the police, get a restraining order – Rachel _had_ sort of stalked her and then entered her apartment without permission. Rachel was determined, she could see that much, but surely the other girl wouldn't risk legal trouble, not for her.

She felt Rachel squeeze her hand and then run her thumb across Santana's knuckles. She couldn't help but meet Rachel's eyes, be drawn to her. Rachel was pleading with her, begging her to open up. The thought scared the hell out of her, but she couldn't look away.

She took a deep breath, drawing air into her lungs and holding it there for a moment before releasing it. "My parents kicked me out," she said, releasing the words quickly.

Santana saw Rachel exhale in relief and nod encouragingly at her, still squeezing her hand. Rachel offered her a small smile and she let it wash over her.

"They – they found a letter that I had written," she started, turning her head and staring at the ground. Tears welled in her eyes as memories came back to her. "It was an old letter, to Brittany," she breathed. "I – I wrote that I loved her and that I was willing to come out if it meant that we could be together."

If Rachel was surprised by her words, she didn't show it, and Santana was grateful. She took a shaky breath. She could hear Rachel breathing beside her, could feel the other girl's hand wrapped around her own, stroking it.

"I never sent it, though. Brittany had already rejected me once, and I couldn't go through that again," she whispered and her heart hurt when she thought of Brittany, the girl she had loved so deeply. She pushed thoughts of Brittany away; this moment wasn't about her. Santana wasn't ready for this moment to be about _her_.

"They found it. I don't know how. I don't even remember where I put it, and I never got a chance to ask. I just remember that they were waiting for me, when I got home after Nationals. My dad was just standing there and my mom was crying and holding the letter and I just knew. I just knew that _they_ knew," she started, crying more openly now.

Rachel didn't say anything to her. The girl merely let go of her hand and slid an arm around her shoulders and it made Santana's heart skip a beat. She was sitting here with Rachel, talking, actually talking, and nothing bad was happening.

"I just remember that my dad was so angry. He was yelling at me, and he looked so fucking disgusted. Like suddenly, I wasn't his little girl anymore. I was just some heathen," Santana said. "My mom said that they could put me in a program, that Brittany had been putting ideas into my head and that they could get me help. I – I remember crying and telling her that I didn't need to be in a program just because I was in love. My dad told me to get out, screamed at me to get out of his house. So I grabbed my bag and left."

Santana frowned, trying to wipe some of the tears off of her face. "I didn't know where else to go, so I went to Puck's and he helped me. He got me some clothes and gave me some money. And then he basically begged me to stay, but I didn't listen. I was so fucking angry and so like, shocked by everything. I remember that he told me that I could always come home if I wanted to," she stuttered, reaching out and grasping Rachel's hand tightly.

"Why didn't you?" the other girl asked.

"I guess I didn't want to fail," she murmured. "I didn't want to go back to a town that didn't want me. My own parents kicked me out. What was I supposed to do?"

Rachel rested her head on Santana's shoulder and moved even closer to her. Santana felt wet tears running down her face and falling into her lap, covering both of their hands. But Rachel didn't pull away – if anything she held on tighter – and though she would never admit, the act was comforting.

" _We_ wanted you, Santana," Rachel told her.

She shook her head. "Everyone hated me."

Rachel's arm tightened around her. "We all hated each other, sometimes, but we loved you. We always came together when it counted."

"It wouldn't have counted," she whispered, her voice shaking. She felt Rachel move away slightly and take her arm away from her shoulders. Her heart dropped down into her stomach.

But Rachel just turned to face her, pulling one leg underneath her and sandwiching Santana's hand between both of her own and raising it up. Confused, Santana looked up and she felt her heart start beating again, up in her chest where it should be. Rachel rested her cheek against their entangled hands.

"It would have counted in every way that mattered."

Santana sobbed earnestly and she wanted to rip her hand away from Rachel just so she could bury her face in it. "Does it even matter now?" she cried, turning away. "Even if I had stayed, I probably just would have ended up doing this anyway. This is all I can do, Rachel, don't you understand that? This is all I could ever do!"

"Santana!" Rachel exclaimed. "That's not true. I know that you were going to do great things, if you had only given yourself half a chance. And I think you could still do so many wonderful things." She quieted. "I _know_ that you could still do wonderful things," she said, grabbing hold of Santana's chin and forcing her to look at her.

Santana's eyes were still closed and she refused to open them. She could feel Rachel's gaze on her and she could picture the exact face Rachel was making, fierce and determined, like she believed everything she was saying. And she couldn't bear to open her eyes and see that face because Santana knew that it would just be a lie. She felt Rachel's hand slide up her cheek, cupping it gently as she used her thumb to wipe away Santana's tears.

"I think about you every day," Santana whispered eventually, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Rachel gasped. "What do you mean?"

Santana could hear the confusion in the other girl's voice and she swallowed the growing lump in her throat. "Every time I get up on stage, _every single time_ , I hear you in my head, yelling at me," she choked out. "You knew me and you knew that this was all I could do and you were right."

Rachel made an odd sound in front of her, a strange sort of half-sob and Santana didn't know what to do with it. She opened her eyes and immediately felt guilty. Rachel had tears in her eyes and she looked incredibly hurt. Santana felt bad that she had put that look on Rachel's face, that she had replaced belief and determination with sadness and distress. And she hated that it even mattered to her.

She pulled herself away from Rachel, crossing the room and leaning against the wall, sliding down it until she was sitting on the floor. She wiped at her eyes furiously, willing the tears to stop falling but they wouldn't.

Rachel turned on the couch to face her, putting her hands in her lap. A long moment passed. "I was angry, Santana. I was angry at you for the things you had done to me in the past and I let my anger get the best of me," she said quietly. "But you have to understand that I didn't mean it. I didn't want this for you. I never thought you would take something I said so seriously and so personally."

Santana pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and holding them to her. "You just said what everyone else was already thinking," she muttered, her voice catching as she tried to swallow tears.

Rachel didn't answer, and Santana put her head down on her knees, sobbing loudly. Time stretched on and she wasn't sure how long she sat there crying while Rachel stayed silent. It felt like just a few seconds and it felt like a lifetime and all she could do was sob.

"You're really good at rationalizing, Santana. Do you realize that?" Rachel asked her softly, and she looked up at the other girl.

Santana didn't say anything, didn't know what to say. Rachel hadn't moved towards her, and she hadn't left and Santana felt like she was just barely holding on.

"You think," Rachel began. She paused and Santana watched her take a deep breath. "You think you're not good enough, that you're not worth anything, and you're so desperate to keep yourself down that you cling to old words and old fights that meant very little in the long run," she said, standing up and moving to Santana, kneeling down in front of her.

She grabbed Santana's head, putting one hand on either side of her face and forced Santana to look at her. Her hands were warm to the touch, a little clammy, and Santana clung to the tenderness that Rachel was exuding. She didn't know what else to do.

"You held on to them so tightly that you started to believe them. And now, I think they're an excuse for you to make yourself miserable because you don't have any faith in yourself," Rachel said honestly.

Santana shook. Rachel was looking straight at her, staring into her eyes intently, like there was nothing else in the world. She was holding Santana there so she couldn't look away. "They meant everything to me," she rasped, closing her eyes because she couldn't take it anymore.

She wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere far away, away from all the emotion bubbling up inside her. But Rachel's hands were still warm and her thumbs were running across her cheekbones and she could feel Rachel's eyes on her. She felt heavy, weighted down, grounded in that moment.

"I don't know how else I'm supposed to be," Santana whispered.

Rachel let go of her face and when she opened her eyes, the other girl was moving, slipping next to her and pulling her into an awkward sideways hug, as she was still kneeling and Santana still had her knees against her chest.

She didn't move for a moment, but eventually she twisted in the girl's arms until she was facing her. She wrapped her own arms around Rachel's waist and she felt like Rachel was everywhere, all at once. Rachel was pressed against her tightly, one hand on her back and one hand buried in her hair, pressing lightly against her scalp.

"Just be, Santana," she heard Rachel whisper into her neck. "Just let yourself _be_."

Santana didn't say anything, didn't know what to say. She just clung desperately to Rachel and tried to hold on to the moment she was caught in. She didn't want to be in it, but she couldn't make herself get out of it.

"You have to let go," Rachel said, and Santana felt the girl's tears on her neck. "Let go, Santana; let go of all of it."

Rachel's words hit her forcefully, and Santana heard words spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I don't want to fall."

"Then let me catch you," Rachel whispered, squeezing her. "I could help you if you would only let me."

And Santana just cried and held on to Rachel even tighter. Pressure built up in her chest and she nodded just a little bit, sobbing, knowing that Rachel had felt the movement of her head because Rachel stiffened slightly before relaxing into her.

She wanted to hate everything about that moment, her weakness at giving in, at admitting that something was wrong. But she couldn't do it. Rachel's hands were running through her hair and she was whispering in Santana's ear that it would be okay, and Santana just stayed there because she felt like she could almost believe it.


	9. Chapter 9

"You're late," was the greeting Santana was met with, exactly three weeks after her breakdown to Rachel.

Santana dropped her bag on the ground and sat down across from said brunette. "I know, I know. I overslept," she shrugged, taking the coffee cup she was offered. She took a few grateful sips and rubbed her eyes. When she opened them, Rachel was staring at her pointedly. "I'm only like, two minutes late. God, I'm sorry, okay?"

Rachel smirked in satisfaction and Santana rolled her eyes. "Yes, but seeing as how I only have thirty minutes for dinner, I have to make each one of them count. You've now reduced the total amount of time we can spend together to one-fifteenth its normal allotment," she answered smartly. "Actually, since two more minutes have passed, our dinner time has been reduced by one-seventh."

"That's because you spent like five minutes saying all that," Santana deadpanned, pulling a couple of sandwiches out of her bag. "I overslept, but I also picked up your favorite vegan sandwich, so you should be nice to me or I'll eat it myself."

Rachel snatched the sandwich out of Santana's hands quickly. "Having taken this new information into account, I have decided to forgive you for your tardiness."

Santana chuckled. "Next time I'm just going to give you the sandwich first."

They ate in silence, but it was comfortable. This has become an easy routine for them. They hadn't really spoken about anything serious since Santana's breakdown, but they had spent time every day together. If Rachel worked a morning shift, she would force Santana to come over and eat dinner at her place before she had to go to work. If Rachel worked an evening shift, like today, Santana would meet her on her break.

It made Rachel nervous, the fact that they hadn't really talked about serious matters, but she was placated by the fact that Santana hadn't tried to blow her off. She could see Santana begin to warm up around her, laughing and smiling openly sometimes. It was enough for her that Santana seemed to be at least a little happier.

For her part, Santana had no idea what she was doing. Every time Rachel would call her and refuse to stop pestering her until she came over to eat some ridiculous vegan dish that Santana would never admit to liking, Santana's first instinct was to lock herself in her room and never leave.

But Rachel hadn't pushed her, had never tried to pry anything more out of Santana's muddled mind. And Santana was eternally grateful for that, because even though she had told Rachel that she would try to open up to her, the mere thought of it made her panic. Hurtful thoughts and memories would pass through her mind sometimes, and she had gone so far as opening her mouth to voice them, but she always pulled back at the last minute.

Santana just tried to enjoy the time she spent with Rachel. Four years ago, she never would have thought she could ever be friends with someone like Rachel Berry, but here she sat, directly across from the grinning girl and she felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips.

Rachel was still a bit intense sometimes, and still incredibly verbose, but she was genuinely nice to Santana and seemed to care about her. And though Santana hadn't realized that she needed that in her life, she found that it was a welcome respite from the harshness of her reality, that Rachel was a welcome respite.

"Are you ever going to say anything, Santana, or you just going to sit there staring at your sandwich like it contains the secrets to life?" Rachel asked. "I only have about fifteen minutes left, and knowing my boss as well as I do, I can tell that he's antsy for me to come back behind the counter."

Santana shrugged, picking at her sandwich. "I was just thinking."

Rachel looked at her expectantly, and when she didn't answer, she watched Rachel's face fall slightly. But Rachel was a good actress and was able to slip a smile on her face with ease. If Santana hadn't been watching her so closely, she never would have noticed it. She felt guilty, like she was disappointing Rachel.

Santana bit her lip, staring at Rachel for a long moment, wondering why she didn't like disappointing the other girl. "I – I was thinking that," she started, but she couldn't manage to finish. Her throat was closing and she choked on her words, shifting her gaze from Rachel to her mostly untouched sandwich.

She watched Rachel reach over and place one of her hands on top of Santana's, running her fingers across the girl's knuckles. She swallowed. "I was thinking that I didn't know I needed you in my life, but now I'm glad that you're here," she rushed out quietly.

"Is it really that hard for you to pay me a compliment?" Rachel asked, smiling, still stroking her hand.

Santana released the breath she didn't know she was holding, chuckling as she did so. "I wouldn't want to stroke your ego too much, Berry, or there won't be any more space in the room for anyone else."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but grinned. "I'm glad I'm here, too," she said softly.

Santana couldn't find anything to say – everything she thought of felt too awkward. Rachel's hand was still on hers and she was smiling at her and everything around her was too loud (the coffeehouse they were in, the soft look on Rachel's face, the warmth spreading up her arm from where Rachel was touching her). The stillness was loud, and there was nothing she could find to say.

"Hey, Rachel, if you're done eating, it would be great if you come back a few minutes early!" a voice called out, Santana recognizing it as the other girl's supervisor. She had never been more grateful for an interruption.

Rachel glanced at her watch, pulling her hand away. "I probably should go ahead and go back," she said, obviously reluctant to leave.

Santana immediately missed the heat of Rachel's hand on hers and the way her fingers felt gliding across her own, but she pushed the feeling down. She wanted to ask Rachel to stay, or tell her to leave, or fling her arms around the girl just so that she could be hugged. She sighed at the familiar tug-of-war playing itself out in her mind.

Rachel stood up, tying her apron around herself and fixing her ponytail. "You should stay and finish eating, Santana. Proper nutrition is of vital importance to one's physical health."

Santana shrugged, wrapping her meal up. "I'll just take it with me to work and eat it later."

She stood up with Rachel, picking up her back and placing the sandwich in it. She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slid them on her face.

"Come over tomorrow afternoon?" Rachel asked, a hand coming to rest on Santana's upper arm. "It's my day off. We can have a late lunch and watch those horrible reality television shows that you love so much."

Santana smirked, finding it easier to push her thoughts away when Rachel was talking to her. Rachel could be a good distraction. "Yeah, alright," she eventually gave in. "Is there a scheduled time at which I must appear upon your doorstep?" she teased, raising the pitch of her voice and trying out her Rachel Berry impression.

Rachel just rolled her eyes at her, leading her towards the door. "Oh, listen to you. You think you're so clever."

"Bitch, I know I am," Santana laughed, watching Rachel's face light up and her smile broaden. She couldn't stop herself from smiling slightly in response, knowing that she had put that smile on Rachel's face, that maybe she was at least doing something right after doing so many things wrong.

As she stepped outside, she turned around, holding the door open as she called out, "And just so you know, I'm bringing over chips and salsa tomorrow! Regular ones, too – not any of your vegan crap."

* * *

But Santana couldn't wait until the next day. She appeared on Rachel's doorstep at about four in the morning, muttering to herself. She stood there for about ten minutes trying to decide whether or not knocking was the right thing to do.

Every time she had just managed to convince herself that she should turn around and leave, she would remember brief flashes of her night at work and end up staying. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she knocked on Rachel's door, half-heartedly hoping that maybe Rachel wouldn't answer.

She heard some shuffling, and a disheveled Rachel opened the door. Her hair was mussed and the shirt and shorts she wore to bed were wrinkled. "Santana, what are you doing here? Are you okay?"

Santana stuttered for a moment. "I'm okay," she mumbled, but they both knew she was lying. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Rachel shook her head, tugging Santana into her apartment and closing the door behind her. She slid the lock into place. "I wasn't expecting you for another twelve hours or so."

Santana just shrugged and followed the other girl into the living room. She wondered if she could just turn around and leave, convince Rachel that her presence was all a dream.

Rachel pulled her down on the couch and she sank into it gratefully, closing her eyes. Rachel leaned against her heavily, yawning.

"What happened?" the smaller girl asked.

"Nothing," she answered immediately.

Rachel slipped her arm underneath Santana's and laced their fingers together, their forearms resting together. "You wouldn't be here in the middle of the night for nothing."

"Maybe I would," Santana said. "Maybe I came just to annoy you. Maybe your couch is more comfortable than mine and I just wanted to sit on it for a while. Maybe I'm a figment of your imagination and you're dreaming all of this right now."

Rachel's head rose up, her brows furrowed as she looked at Santana. Santana looked away from her inquisitive stare and decided that the spot on the wall next to a picture of Rachel's dads was really interesting.

Rachel pulled her hand away and stood up. "I've been really patient with you, Santana," she said. "But if you're going to sit here and try to _inception_ me, then I'm going to bed."

Santana looked up at her in frustration. She was trying, she really was. She was spending much of her spare time with Rachel, hanging out and trying to be normal. She found that she was genuinely enjoying the time they spent together.

But talking about her feelings – the way her heart hurt when she thought about who she used to be, the way her mind tortured her with endless what-ifs and reminders of who she was – was too much. Even thinking about them made her feel like she was starting to choke. Santana couldn't imagine voicing them. She had learned that voicing one's feelings just made them more real and made one more susceptible to being hurt; she had learned that the hard way.

She had to look away from Rachel when she felt a sob trying to escape her.

She was sure that Rachel was telling her to leave, so she stood up, trying to hide the crestfallen look on her face. But Rachel, to her credit, took Santana's hand again and pulled her back to the bedroom before she could process what was happening.

She let Rachel sit her down on the bed and watched the brunette pull out a t-shirt and pair of shorts. She handed them to Santana. "I'm going to use the bathroom while you put these on."

Santana sat there for a few seconds, weighing her options. She ran her hand across Rachel's comforter, remembering how comfortable it had been the day Rachel tried to get her to stay over. It appeared that Rachel was willing to let her off the hook, and if nothing else, she would get to sleep in a nice bed instead of on a couch.

She heard the bathroom door opening and she changed quickly, both impressed and disgusted with herself at the speed with which she could remove her clothes. She shook her head just as Rachel walked back in, rubbing her eyes.

Rachel didn't say anything to her, just slid into bed. Her silence unnerved Santana a bit, and she reluctantly slid in beside the other girl. The lamp on the bedside table was switched off and darkness settled in around them.

"I hope that you'll still be here when I wake up," she heard from beside her.

Santana rolled over, her back facing Rachel as she pulled the blankets up under her chin. She didn't have a response, mostly because she wasn't sure if she would still be there in the morning. Waiting until Rachel fell asleep and ditching was cruel but tempting.

She felt Rachel move on the bed, sliding closer to her. She felt a hand on her back, rubbing it lightly. Rachel yawned again and Santana felt guilty, both for waking her up so late and then for seriously considering leaving her again.

"I hope so, too," she whispered.

The hand on her back stilled. "I won't ask you to talk about in the morning it if you don't want to."

The sob Santana had managed to hold in earlier was pushing itself against the back of her throat. Rachel was being so nice to her, so patient. "What are you even doing, Rachel? You're wasting your time," she wanted to yell, but she couldn't make herself.

"I had to give a private dance at work," she said instead. She had to close her eyes when she felt tears well up in them. "I fucking hate private dances. They're always old guys in suits who sweat a lot and think that because they're paying for you, that means that they can just do whatever they want. They're always so fucking handsy, and Mark says to just let them have a little fun because it brings in more money."

She heard Rachel gasp behind her and she couldn't stop herself from crying then. Rachel knew what she did, but they hadn't properly talked about exactly what her job sometimes entailed. Any time Rachel even mentioned it in passing, Santana quickly shot her down.

"Do you – I mean, have you ever –" she heard from behind her.

Santana shook her head. "I'm not a hooker," she answered angrily.

Rachel rested her forehead against Santana's back and wrapped an arm around her midsection. Santana felt herself calm down and she grasped the hand resting on her stomach. Her anger morphed back into sadness when she remembered the whole point to her story.

"Tonight," she whispered, "I had to give a dance to a woman, and god, she was beautiful."

Santana took a deep breath. "She had these big blue eyes and long blonde hair and she kept smiling at me. She was just so sweet and all I could picture in my head was –" she finally did choke then, unable to finish.

She could see the woman sitting in front of her, could see her kind smile, could feel her fingers tracing over her outer thighs as she danced on top of her. But then suddenly her memories were Brittany, giggling underneath her as she straddled her, gripping her legs and pulling her down for a sweet kiss.

"All I could see was Brittany," she sobbed, burying her face into her hands as she cried. "All I could see was Brittany and it hurt so much."

Santana felt Rachel tugging on her and she let the other girl turn her over. Rachel wrapped her arms around her, pulling her against her and holding her close. Santana wanted to pull away and rush off, but Rachel was holding her too tightly and she couldn't bring herself to do anything more than cry.

She gripped Rachel's shoulders and buried her head against her neck. She could see Brittany so clearly in her mind and she couldn't stop the memories from rushing through her.

They were six and some stupid boy was making Brittany cry so she hit him and told him to leave her alone; they were nine and eating ice cream outside in the hot summer sun and Brittany was giggling at the site of Santana trying to catch all of the melting chocolate as it ran down her arms.

They were eleven and it was New Year's Eve and when the ball dropped on television, Brittany was smiling and leaning over to kiss her; they were fourteen and she was running one her hands up Brittany's inner thigh unsurely until Brittany kissed her fully and whispered that it was okay.

They were sixteen and Brittany was dating Artie and they were barely talking to each other; they were seventeen and she finally told Brittany she loved her, truly and deeply loved her. _Santana_ was seventeen, getting her heart broken.

They were eighteen and they were best friends again, even though Santana still loved her; they were eighteen and every time she looked at Brittany she could feel her chest tighten uncomfortably until Brittany would smile at her and link their pinkies.

They were eighteen and they both loved each other, but she wasn't ready to come out and Brittany wasn't ready to hide them. She was eighteen and her heart was breaking every day as the girl she loved took them closer and closer back to the line of friendship.

Her memories twisted and suddenly the body against hers was too small, the hair she was buried in was too dark and smelled like pomegranate instead of strawberries. The voice whispering to her was slightly higher and more articulate and the hands running through her hair and against her back were smaller.

Suddenly, she was twenty-two again. She was twenty-two and her heart was still breaking and all she could do was grip Rachel tighter and cry herself to sleep.

* * *

When she woke up hours later, the room was bright. She was tangled in the sheets and she twisted and kicked at them until she was finally free. Santana noticed that was alone.

She pulled herself out of Rachel's bed, wondering where the other girl was. She didn't recall Rachel telling her that she had anything planned for the day, an audition or a meeting. Did Rachel's absence mean that she was expected to leave on her own? Was she still supposed to come over later? Had she scared Rachel off?

Santana frowned, questioning when she had become the kind of person who got worked up and bent out of shape just because they woke up alone.

She peeked her head out Rachel's door, and heard singing coming from the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and felt ridiculous for letting her thoughts get away from her.

Santana entered the kitchen slowly, watching Rachel hover over the stove while singing a song she didn't recognize. She leaned her head against the door frame and crossed her arms, letting herself smile. "Pancakes again?"

Rachel fumbled and almost dropped the spatula she was holding. "Santana, you scared me," she said, waving the spatula towards a clearly amused Santana. "And no, I am not making pancakes. I'm making French toast," she smirked, sliding a piece out of the skillet she was holding on to a plate that already had several pieces on it.

Santana sat down at the bar and watched curiously as Rachel put the plate down in front of her and walked around the counter. Rachel threw her arms around Santana and pulled her into a hug.

Santana initially froze at the unexpected contact before eventually returning the hug, trying to remember the words Rachel had whispered to her weeks ago. _Just let go._

"I'm so proud of you, Santana," Rachel said.

She pulled away from the shorter girl and shrugged, sitting back down. "What is it with you and sweet things for breakfast?" she quipped, trying to defuse some of the tension swirling around in her stomach.

Rachel sat down next to her, dividing the French toast up between two plates and adding vegan syrup to all of them. "They're the simplest breakfast item I can make besides cereal," she explained. "I considered making lunch, as it is after noon, but ultimately decided that you would probably prefer breakfast upon waking."

Santana nodded absently, tucking in and enjoying the meal. She nudged Rachel with her elbow. "Thank you," she said, hoping that Rachel would understand that she wasn't just thanking her for breakfast.

Rachel merely smiled at her.

Once again they ate in silence, enjoying Rachel's French toast. Santana still refused to admit that she enjoyed most of the vegan food Rachel made her, but she always cleaned her plate and let Rachel tease her about it. She would never be able to give up cheeseburgers, though.

As she was nearing the last bite of her French toast, Rachel finally broke their companionable silence. "Mister Schuester called me this morning," she said and Santana could tell she was trying hard to sound nonchalant.

"Oh," she responded, dragging her last piece of French toast through the syrup on her plate. "What did he want?" she asked, popping it into her mouth.

"There's a glee barbecue coming up in a couple of weeks," Rachel responded. "I want you to come with me."

Santana sputtered, choking as she dropped her fork. " _What?"_

"I want you to come back to Lima with me."


	10. Chapter 10

"Goddamnit Rachel, what the fuck were you thinking?" Santana yelled, pushing her way through Rachel's front door a few days after Rachel's invitation to accompany her to Lima.

Rachel rolled her eyes, shutting the door behind her. "Oh, hey, Santana. It's lovely to see you. Come on in."

Santana put her hands on her hips and glared at Rachel. If they had still been teenagers, the very mention of a Santana Lopez glare would have terrified her. But she had had all day to prepare for Santana's inevitable angry arrival. Rachel leaned against the door.

"Cut the crap, Berry. You had no right," Santana screeched and Rachel watched her clench her fists. Her knuckles were white and Rachel worried that she was going to end up breaking the skin of her palms.

"It was the only way I could ensure that you would come with me," Rachel answered calmly. She wanted to reach out and unclench Santana's fists, but she couldn't make herself move.

Santana's jaw was set firmly and Rachel was pretty sure the other girl was grinding her teeth. "And I already told you that I'm not going anywhere near Lima, Ohio," she said, her voice quieter now, but still just as dangerous. "You had no right to go to my work and talk to my boss."

"Santana, you need to come to Lima. I really believe that you could find some peace and some closure there," Rachel answered her. "You were using work as an excuse, so I simply took matters into my own hands."

Santana rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "God, that is such a high-school-Rachel thing to do. You think you know better than everyone else so you just go behind people's backs and stick your freaking nose where it doesn't belong."

Rachel, determined to hold her ground, crossed her own arms in response. "And standing here yelling at me for something that has already occurred and cannot be undone is such a high-school-Santana thing to do. The difference between then and now, however, is that you are not nearly as intimidating as you used to be and I am not nearly as afraid of you."

Santana was unmoved by her statement. "The other difference, _Rachel,_ " she spat out, "is that I have a rent and bills to pay. We don't all have nice daddies helping us out while we work part-time and pursue our Broadway dreams."

"Is that what this is about? I'll help you pay your rent next month if you need it," Rachel answered quickly, watching Santana's face morph into one of even greater anger.

"Fuck you," she sputtered, her voice still low and dangerous. "I'm not your charity case, Manhands. I don't want your money."

"Then why are you making it such a big deal?" Rachel asked smartly, cringing a bit at Santana's use of the old insult. She shifted her weight a bit, watching Santana carefully. Her whole body was tense and her hands were still clenched in fists at her sides. Her eyes were dark and angry, but there was something else there, too – it looked like desperation.

Rachel uncrossed her arms, beginning to understand what was going on – Santana was picking a fight, starting an argument to push her away. The realization made sadness settle in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed through it.

"Because you didn't have the right!" Santana answered. "I'm on thin ice with my boss on a good day. I can't just take two weeks off. This is New York City; there are millions of people here. You think I'm not replaceable?"

Rachel shrugged, putting her hands behind her back up against the door. "He said that he didn't mind."

Rachel watched some of the anger slip from Santana's face as she shook her head, her fists finally unclenching. Santana walked towards her, and Rachel fought the urge to back up – there was nowhere for her to go. Rachel bit her lip and tracked Santana's movement as the taller girl eventually came to rest beside her, leaning her back against the door and mirroring Rachel's position.

"Yeah, he didn't mind," Santana said, her voice bitter. "He said firing me was a pretty easy decision. Apparently, I'm _ill-tempered_ and _unreliable,_ so I would say that he didn't mind one bit replacing me with some seventeen-year-old who didn't have a friend coming by twice a day to beg for time off."

Rachel gasped and she watched Santana's face fall. She tugged on the taller girl's arm, pulling it out from behind her back, and grasped her hand. She laced their fingers together and watched Santana's shoulders slump. Santana closed her eyes but didn't pull away.

"You had no right, Rachel," she repeated.

Rachel looked to the floor, her feelings conflicted. She knew she should be embarrassed and ashamed of her actions, and she was, to some extent. But it felt like a sign, like the fates were setting the two of them up for something greater. "This could be a good thing, Santana," she eventually said.

Santana opened her mouth to scoff, but Rachel cut her off. "No, hear me out. I am sorry. I apologize for circumventing you and going to speak with your manager. If I had realized that it would cost you your job, I would have reconsidered my decided course of action."

She tugged on Santana's hand, pulling her closer until they were right next to each other. "But you have a lot of demons, Santana, and while some of them are here in New York, many of them still reside in Lima," Rachel said softly, carefully watching Santana's face for any hint of reaction.

Santana didn't say anything, so Rachel moved away from the door until she was standing right in from of the taller girl. Keeping her grip on one of Santana's hands, she raised her other one to cup the girl's cheek.

"You don't know my demons," Santana whispered. Her eyes were still closed, and Rachel silently willed them to open. Santana just stood there, expressionless and Rachel shook her head.

Two steps forward, three steps back; one step forward, two steps back. This was their game, this push-and-pull. Santana would open up and then catch herself and retreat. So Rachel would pull her out again and they would repeat the cycle. She wondered sometimes why she did it, why she was willing to work so hard.

She almost stopped pulling a couple of times, but then she would catch a bright smile on Santana's face or a look of hope in her eyes and it would remind Rachel why she went through all of this. Because that look on Santana's face filled her with warmth and happiness. It made every nerve ending in her body tingle and her breath catch and it was worth it.

Rachel brushed her thumb across Santana's cheek before running her fingertips over the dark circles under Santana's eyes. She had no makeup on and her face was pale. Rachel frowned, remembering the night Santana had fallen asleep on her couch, looking like she had the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.

"You're right, Santana. I don't know all of your demons," she whispered back and she watched Santana's eyelids flutter open. "But I do know that there is no way you could ever move past them while continuing to work at that place."

Rachel held eye contact with her, trying to make Santana understand her, finally listen to her and understand that she was better than some seedy New York strip club with a sleazy manager. Santana tried to look away from her, but Rachel grabbed her face with both hands. Santana's eyes were soft and hesitant and Rachel sent her a small reassuring smile.

Rachel leaned up and placed a soft kiss on her cheek before resting her forehead against Santana's and closing her eyes. "Please come home with me," she said softly.

She felt Santana take a deep breath, exhaling heavily. Her breath mingled with Rachel's between them and Rachel felt warmth spread across her cheeks.

"Okay."

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Rachel rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time. Santana had been whining for practically the entire flight from New York to Dayton and Rachel had quickly learned that the fastest way to stop it was to just accept it as a necessary evil of traveling with the girl. She also quickly learned that if she didn't indulge the behavior, then Santana wouldn't say anything more.

When Rachel didn't respond, Santana just grumbled under her breath for the entire walk from the baggage claim to the rental car. A smile tugged at Rachel's lips and she tried to hide it. Something about seeing Santana pulling her suitcase behind her, stomping around and muttering what sounded like Spanish curses was oddly endearing.

Santana tried to get in the driver's seat after they put their bags in the trunk and Rachel only just managed to get in before her. "I don't trust you," Rachel said. "There's a distinct possibility that if I let you drive, you'll deliberately drive the wrong direction."

Santana shrugged, settling into the passenger seat. "It was worth a shot," she smirked.

The ride started out quietly. Santana fiddled with the radio a bit before finding a top forty station. She tried to turn the volume up, but Rachel managed to keep it at a low murmur.

After a few minutes, Rachel glanced at the girl beside her. Santana looked comfortable in her baggy jeans and tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun and she was reclining back in the seat. Even though she looked at ease, Rachel could see signs of stress in the other girl's body – her legs were bouncing up and down incessantly, her hands were gripping her knees tightly, and her mouth was set in a firm line.

"Do you want me to tell you what everyone has been up to?" she eventually asked.

When Santana looked over at her curiously, she elaborated. "I can tell you what everyone has been doing so that you have some idea of what to expect. Or would you rather wait and let them all tell you themselves?"

Santana shifted in the seat, turning the radio up a little bit. "I think I'll just wait," she responded, shifting again and staring out the window. It was obvious that she was done with the conversation.

Rachel sighed quietly. Santana looked uncomfortable and nervous and Rachel wished she knew how to calm the girl. If she was this stressed during the car ride to Lima, Rachel could only imagine what awaited them when they arrived.

Rachel reached out and took one of Santana's hands in her own. It was going to be a long two weeks.


	11. Chapter 11

Rachel didn't know when she'd seen Santana Lopez look so nervous, and she had seen just about every emotion on the Lopez scale recently. Santana's fidgeting and discomfort were starting to rub off on her the closer they got to her childhood home and Rachel caught herself drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

She turned down a familiar street and couldn't contain her smile. She glanced at her companion and Santana looked like she might bolt as soon as the car stopped. "Honestly, Santana, there's no reason to worry. It's just my dads."

She heard Santana squeak out an odd half-laugh. "Yeah, exactly. It's your dads. I'm sure they weren't exactly fans of me in high school."

"Well, to be fair, _I_ didn't really care for you in high school," Rachel deadpanned.

When Santana shot her a glare, she giggled a little bit. Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You're not really helping right now, Rach," she muttered.

"On the contrary, I've actually been quite helpful," Rachel responded, pulling into the driveway of her childhood home. "I finally managed to distract you long enough that you stopped fidgeting. We've reached our destination and you didn't even notice."

Santana's mouth opened and closed as she looked down at herself, seeing that she had in fact stopped squirming. She cast another glare towards Rachel, who was pleased to see that it contained a sort of grudging respect. "You're evil," Santana told her.

Rachel smiled and opened the car door, pulling herself out and stretching. When Santana made no move to follow her, she peaked her head back in the rental car. "Are you coming?" she asked.

She watched Santana start to move slowly, sliding out of the car as she raised her sunglasses to rest on top of her head. The summer days were long, but the sun had already started to set. With a sigh, Santana slammed the car door and leaned against it.

Rachel shook her head, deciding to give the other girl a moment of space. She pulled both of their suitcases out of the trunk and sat them down in the driveway, keeping an eye on Santana as she did so, still afraid that Santana might try to flee. Rachel had seen it time and time again, after all.

But Santana wasn't moving; her body looked heavy as she slumped against the door and stared down the sidewalk. Rachel stepped next to her and tried to follow her eyeline. The Latina seemed to be looking at everything – the houses lining the street, built around the same time and almost identical on the inside, the man a few homes down, taking advantage of the setting sun and mowing his lawn. The scent of freshly cut grass permeated the air. Rachel smiled at her neighbor's yard, seeing the old woman outside watering her many flowers.

She looked back at Santana curiously and the smile left her face. Where Rachel had been happy to see the small piece of suburbia that she had called home, Santana looked like she might cry. Rachel wanted to reach out and smooth away the lines of dejection across the other girl's forehead, but she didn't have the chance to.

"Do you girls need help?" a voice called out. Santana tensed next to her and inhaled sharply.

Rachel spun around. "No, daddy, we've got it. We'll be just a moment," she responded, grabbing both of their suitcases. "Come on, Santana. Let's get inside," she said softly.

Santana nodded, taking her suitcase away from Rachel and following her towards the house. "Your dads don't own any guns, do they?"

"Just one," Rachel laughed as they made it inside the house.

"Rachel, sweetie, we're so glad you're home," her father Leroy said as soon as they stepped through the door. He picked her up as he hugged her and she felt giddiness course through her. Her father Leroy was tall and fairly strong and his hugs never failed to put a smile on her face. During a visit home her freshman year of college, she had asked him to stop treating her like a child with his constant need to pick her up and swing her around, but her resolve only lasted two more trips before she realized that she would never be too old for one of her dad's hugs. They were always a source of happiness and comfort for her.

Her dad Hiram was on her just as her feet touched the ground. He wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. "We've missed you," he said with a smile and she grinned back at him. He was only just taller than her, but he more than made up for his stature with his determination. Hiram had always pushed himself to be the best and Rachel had admired that about him from a very young age. She eventually realized that she admired it because she was exactly the same way.

As she pulled away from him, she followed his gaze to the girl standing awkwardly in the entranceway. Santana was standing there politely, but Rachel could see that her smile was strained. She stepped forwards and pulled Santana further into the house, putting her hand on her back between her shoulder blades. "Dad, daddy, surely you both remember Santana," she smiled, keeping her hand in place.

"How could we forget?" Leroy asked, smiling. Santana tensed even further, and Rachel wished that Santana could see that there wasn't a hint of malice on his face. Leroy stepped forward and gave Santana a small hug and she froze before she awkwardly returned it.

Hiram, seeming to pick up on her discomfort, politely offered his hand. "Welcome back to Lima," he smiled. "It's good to see you again, Santana."

Rachel ran her hand down Santana's back when she didn't say anything, slightly tapping her fingertips along her spine as she did so. It seemed to knock her out of whatever daze she was in and she shook Hiram's hand. "Yeah, it's good to see you again too, Mr. Berry," she responded, before looking at Leroy. "And… the other Mr. Berry," she finished uncomfortably.

Leroy waved her words away. "Now, Santana, you're going to be a guest in our home for the next two weeks. Please call us Leroy and Hiram."

Santana nodded, and Rachel watched her fix the smile on her face, trying to make it seem less strained. An awkwardly silent moment settled over them all.

"Well," Hiram started, "we've set up the guest bedroom for Santana if you both want to go upstairs and get settled. We know you've had a long day, but Leroy and I thought we might go out for dinner if you're up for it."

Rachel nodded, smiling brightly before she pulled Santana up the stairs with her. She deposited her suitcase in front of her door and led them towards the guest bedroom. Santana followed her blindly, and Rachel had to physically pull her into the room. Santana stood in the middle of the room for a few moments and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

Rachel was starting to worry about the other girl. She wasn't saying much and she wasn't very responsive. Rachel wondered if this trip was good idea. She doubted herself for a split-second before she shook such thoughts away – Santana needed one of them to act like she knew what she was doing.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "I promise that they're harmless and they hold no grudges."

She watched Santana lick her lips. "What do your dads know, Rachel? About, well, me and what happened?"

Rachel nodded, knowing that this talk was going to happen at some point. "I didn't tell them much, Santana," she answered, sitting down next to Santana and trying to catch her eye. "I merely informed them that I recently found you in New York City and had convinced you to accompany me home to Lima for a visit with our old friends. I was adamant that you would stay with us, but I didn't tell them why."

Santana nodded but still didn't look at her. Rachel couldn't help but sigh. "I also didn't tell them why you left or what you've been doing in the interim. It's not really my place and I would never violate the trust you've put in me," she told Santana firmly.

Rachel was relieved when Santana finally looked at her. It was a quick glance but it was accompanied by the barest hint of a smile, which Rachel gladly returned. She stood up. "Now that that's settled, I find myself quite famished."

Santana looked around the room casually. "So, I'll see you later tonight after you have dinner with your dads?"

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Are you not hungry? You should eat something. Traveling can be quite exhausting and it's important to maintain an adequate diet in order to maximize one's health," she responded before nodding her head resolutely.

"No, I don't want to impose. You should like, catch up with your dads or whatever. I'm not really hungry," Santana shrugged.

"You wouldn't be imposing. They invited both of us," Rachel said. She held out her hand. "If I walk downstairs without you, they will just send me back up here to get you."

Santana glanced at her hand and looked back up at her. Her expression was unreadable and it made Rachel nervous. She almost withdrew her hand but eventually Santana grabbed it and let Rachel pull her off the bed, down the stairs and all the way to dinner.

* * *

"I can't believe this place is still here," Santana said, sliding into a booth. She grabbed a breadstick and took a bite as Rachel slid in beside her. "The breadsticks even taste exactly the same."

Leroy slide in the bench across from them and Hiram followed him. "Lima hasn't changed much, in all honesty. The only real difference is that they opened up a Breadstix on the other side of town," he told them.

"A few stores at the mall closed, as well," Hiram added.

A waitress came by and took their drink orders. Santana and Rachel's fathers passed around some breadsticks. Rachel just glared at them disdainfully. They were supposedly some kind of wondrous bread-like heaven, but being vegan, Rachel wouldn't know.

"So Santana, how are your parents?"

Rachel watched Santana take a huge bite of the breadstick she was holding. "They're…well, you know, same old, same old," she muttered, shrugging. "Like you said, Lima doesn't really change."

Rachel jumped in. "Dad, how's work been?" she directed at Hiram, knowing that once he got started talking about his job, he tended to ramble a bit. Santana sent her a grateful smile and Rachel nodded in return.

The waitress came back with their drinks and took their food orders. She kept sending wary glances at Santana, no doubt recognizing her. Rachel assumed that the woman expected Santana to start yelling at her, demanding a wheelbarrow full of breadsticks or her head on a silver platter. But Santana was nothing but polite and Rachel almost laughed at the look on the woman's face.

They made idle chit-chat until their food came and Rachel was glad to see that Santana seemed to be loosening up a little bit, understanding that her fathers weren't a threat. Trying to keep an eye on everything and run interference if needed was both tiring and time-consuming. Her stomach grumbled and she was happy for the distraction her salad gave her.

"I don't see how you can eat that," Rachel scoffed.

Santana rolled her eyes and stabbed a piece of Italian sausage and scooped up some rigatoni. "You're just jealous that you're missing out on all these delicious carbs. But you enjoy your rabbit food, Rachel."

"Well at least my 'rabbit food' isn't the result of –" she started.

Santana raised her hand at Rachel. "Okay, you need to stop now. I don't need another ten minute lecture about this," she interrupted, smiling brightly when Leroy started chuckling. "You just sit there and eat your rabbit food; I'm going to sit here and eat this pasta. Then I'm going to stuff the rest of these breadsticks in my purse and we're all gonna be just fine."

"What have you been up to the last coupe of years, Santana?" Leroy asked, still chuckling. "As I recall, you left pretty suddenly."

And just like that, the moment was gone and the atmosphere around Rachel and Santana shifted. Rachel glanced at Santana nervously, but was surprised to see that Santana looked calm and collected. Her posture was slightly rigid, but she seemed composed.

"My aunt got sick," Santana said.

Rachel turned around in shock and her jaw dropped.

"We were really close and my parents let me go take care of her. She didn't make it," Santana continued solemnly, and Rachel was sure that Santana was purposefully avoiding her gaze. Her eyebrows rose as Santana continued. "But the time the dust settled, I was already in New York City, so I just decided to stay there."

They were lies. They were all lies and Rachel couldn't look away from them. Santana had said them with such ease, like it was nothing to her to spin some story about what was probably an imaginary aunt, to create a character and kill it off in a few sentences. Santana made the lies look so easy, so simple. Rachel shook her head in disbelief. Anger and disappointment swirled around inside of her and she couldn't manage to pinpoint exactly what she was disappointed and angry about.

If her fathers noticed her sudden shift from shock to quiet anger, they wisely didn't say anything about it. Rachel was quiet for the rest of dinner and the car ride home, trying to decide how she felt about Santana's fake explanation, why it made her uneasy and uncomfortable.

She understood, in some ways, why Santana had lied. Rachel knew that she couldn't expect Santana to open up about what had really happened, at least not on their first day back in town. She had just been so hopeful that perhaps Santana might try. But Santana hadn't tried at all. Santana had lied with seemingly no problem whatsoever.

Rachel hated it. She hated that Santana had lied; she hated that Santana had felt the need to lie, to keep herself locked up and tightly wound. As they walked through the front door and bid her fathers goodnight, Rachel hated that this was who Santana had always been, that this was who life made her – a scared and heartbroken girl hiding underneath a perfect mask.

In that moment, though, what Rachel hated the most was that she couldn't tear that mask off. The only person who could do that was Santana, and Rachel could see that the girl was clinging to it with every ounce of strength she had in her.

Rachel felt Santana nudge her and she looked up. "You okay?"

Rachel nodded. "Goodnight, Santana," she whispered, raising up to place a light kiss on the taller girl's cheek. As she walked upstairs, she cast one final look over her shoulder. Santana's head was bowed and one of her feet was scuffling across the wood floor of the entranceway.

She wanted to walk back down the stairs and wrap Santana in a warm hug, wanted to tuck her into bed and tell her that everything was okay. Rachel turned around and walked the rest of the way to her room instead. The day had been exhausting, and there were still many uphill battles ahead of them.

* * *

Something was poking her shoulder irritatingly. Was there someone on stage with her? This was her moment. She was winning her third consecutive Tony and someone was trying to interrupt her. She gripped her award tightly, thanking Barbra and Bernadette.

"Rachel," they hissed and suddenly her eyes were open. She was in her childhood home, in her old room, in her bed. Santana was hovering over her.

She rubbed her eyes, grumbling a bit. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice thick from sleep.

There was a long silence and Rachel's eyelids were too heavy and her mind was foggy.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?" Santana whispered.

Rachel's eyelids fluttered and she rubbed her eyes again before nodding. She rolled on to her back as Santana slid into bed beside her, copying her position. Santana's hand was resting up against hers and she stopped herself from reaching out and taking it.

"I'm sorry," Santana whispered into the darkness.

Rachel turned her head to look at her. "I know," she responded quietly. "I'm not mad at you. I understand."

Santana met her eyes. "Do you?" she asked, her voice tense.

Rachel bit her lip. "I'm starting to. I'm trying to."

Santana turned away from her, staring at the ceiling. She didn't say anything and so Rachel turned her gaze upwards as well. She felt her eyes growing heavier as they laid there in silence.

"Do you know why I hated you for most of the time we were in high school?"

Rachel's eyes flickered back open. "I could make several guesses," she answered honestly. "But I would rather you tell me."

Santana didn't respond at first and Rachel thought she might have fallen asleep. "You always knew who you were," Santana finally said. "You knew who you were and what you wanted and you already had plans for how to get there. You were so sure of yourself, sure of your talent and your dreams and your weird animal sweaters. You never faltered."

She felt Santana shift before she spoke again. "You knew from day one and the rest of us were still trying to figure it out. _I_ was still trying to figure it out."

Rachel just nodded. Sleep was pulling at her, tugging on her conscious mind and she fought to stay awake. "Did you ever figure it out?" she asked, her voice slightly slurred.

"I'm starting to," she heard quietly and she didn't know if it came from her mind or the girl in her bed. "I'm trying to."

"And?" she prompted, or at least she thought she did.

Rachel felt a warm hand glide over her own, a thumb brushing across her knuckles, the ghost of a kiss on her forehead, or maybe that was in her dream.

"And I hate it," she heard, or maybe that was in her dream, too.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Rachel's bed was empty and the sheets were cold. Half-remembered pieces of whispered conversations floated through her consciousness and she couldn't be sure if she was remembering something real or something dreamed.

She glanced at the clock and saw that she had slept much later than she had intended. They had no definitive plans – the barbecue wasn't for a couple more days – but Rachel had wanted to adhere to as much of a normal schedule as was possible. It was already eleven a.m.

Rachel rolled out of bed and dressed casually before slowly making her way across the hall. The guest bedroom was empty and the bed was made and she was relieved. At least some of the previous night hadn't been imaginary.

She crept downstairs and heard voices coming from the kitchen.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am that you have sausage, Leroy," she heard Santana's voice.

Rachel paused at the bottom of the stairs and took a seat, leaning against the wall. She wasn't sure why she had chosen to sit quietly and eavesdrop in her own home, but something kept her in her place.

"While I love Rachel and I support her in her veganism, sometimes a man wants sausage biscuits or a hamburger or a nice juicy steak," she heard Leroy say.

A smile tugged at the corner of Rachel's lips at the sound of his voice. Just the sound instantly calmed her and took her back to being a little girl – falling and scraping a knee, which he would clean up while whispering soothing words to her or singing a simple melody.

"I hear you, Leroy," Santana said. "I could never live without meat. Sometimes that vegan stuff isn't half bad, though," she continues, and Rachel imagined that she shrugged. "Don't tell Rachel I said that, though. I'd never hear the end of it."

Leroy laughed and Rachel heard dishes clattering.

"So are you excited to see everyone again?" he asked. "Rachel said you haven't had much contact with anyone since you got out of Lima."

"Honestly, I don't know," Santana said. "I guess so. I haven't really seen or heard from anyone. But," she paused, "well, I didn't leave on the best circumstances with everybody in glee."

Rachel could hear water running – dishes were being done – and she strained to hear the rest of the conversation.

"They'll be happy to see you, Santana. _All_ of them," Leroy responded.

There was a long moment of silence and Rachel could picture Santana fidgeting uncomfortably. "Do you think so?" she finally asked.

"Definitely," Leroy answered. Rachel heard the water stop and there was more silence. "Everyone from the glee club will be really pleased to see you again, to know how you're doing."

There was more silence and it was making Rachel nervous even though she wasn't even in the room. There were things that weren't being said, movements she couldn't see, and Rachel could almost feel them filling the air.

"I can't think of anyone who would be happier to see you than your parents, though."

Rachel heard a loud clatter – a glass hitting the counter maybe or a fork dropping on to a plate perhaps. Her eyebrows shot up in shock. She had no idea her fathers might know more than they had let on.

"I don't know what you mean," Santana said and Rachel knew the look that would be on her face. It would be cool and calm, almost serene, but she wouldn't be looking right at Leroy, instead staring at the floor or the wall. Rachel could hear her voice shake.

"Lima is a small town, Santana," Leroy told her. "They were really worried about you. Everyone was. You basically disappeared."

Santana scoffed but didn't respond immediately. "So you knew I was lying last night? And you asked me about my parents anyway?" she eventually asked.

"It's not my place to pry, Santana. I didn't really know you that well in high school. I only knew the stories that Rachel told me," he said. Rachel imagined Santana's pained expression in response. "They weren't all bad stories, you know. I can remember quite a few times where stories about you ended up being about how much Rachel was worried about you."

Rachel would have been annoyed at her father if she were in the room with them. She and Santana hadn't spoken much about high school and Rachel wanted any conversations about their high school dynamic to be between the two of them.

"Rachel worried about me?" she heard Santana ask quietly. Rachel bit her lip and her annoyance with her father lessened.

"Of course she did."

There was a sniffle and Rachel almost made her presence known then, just so she could comfort the brunette in the kitchen. "I don't know if I want to see them," Santana told Leroy. "They kicked me out. My parents found out that I'm gay and they kicked me out of the house I grew up in," she said, her voice thick with emotion. Rachel imagined her face falling and tears building up in her eyes. "I don't know if I _could_ see them."

Rachel heard a stool being scraped across the floor. "I could sit here and tell you that parents are people, too, and that we all make mistakes. I could tell you that hindsight is twenty-twenty and that everyone has regrets."

Santana sighed loudly, scoffing a little bit.

"I could tell you these things, but just like it's not my place to pry into your life, it's not my place to speak on behalf of your parents. All I know for sure is that they love you and they would want to see you, if for no other reason than to know that their daughter is okay."

Rachel pictured them in the kitchen. She knew her father well and she visualized him sitting on a wooden stool next to Santana with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She could see Santana trying desperately not to cry, could see Leroy respond with an arm across her shoulders.

"I don't know if I can give them that," she heard Santana say.

"You don't have to give them anything if you don't want to. Remember that, okay? You don't have to give anyone anything unless you're ready."

Rachel sat on the stairs for a minute, smiling gently at her father and how kind and compassionate he was. She was proud of Santana for opening up, even if it wasn't to her. She was proud of both of them and her heart swelled.

When she stepped into the kitchen, the two were pulling out of a hug and Santana was wiping at her eyes. Rachel decided not to say anything – she had listened in on a private moment after all.

"Daddy, sausage?" she asked, eyeing the plate with disgust. "I don't know how you can stand to eat this junk," she said, smirking at both of them.

Leroy leaned over to Santana, nudging her with his elbow. "You know, when she was little, sausage was actually her favorite food."

Santana laughed a bit breathlessly, wiping at her eyes. "Really?"

Leroy nodded. "Oh, yeah. She would hardly even touch fruits and vegetables. She hated them. She would pick a cheeseburger over a carrot any day."

"I don't know anyone who wouldn't. Present company excluded," she added, smirking at Rachel a bit as both she and Leroy chuckled.

Rachel scoffed indignantly. "I grew up and came to my senses. Stop that. Both of you stop laughing this instant."

Their laughter just grew and Rachel tried not to smile with them. She liked this side of Santana, the side of her that could make jokes and tease someone without ill intent, who could smile and laugh with her father comfortably in their kitchen first thing in the morning.

"At least tell me that you and dad picked up some vegan-friendly options for me to eat," she said.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he told her with a grimace. "We didn't have a chance to get to the store this week. I think there might be some fruit in the refrigerator."

She opened the door and turned back to him, frowning. "There is next to nothing I can eat in here," she sighed. "I suppose we'll just have to go shopping."

Leroy picked up his coffee mug and kissed Rachel on the cheek. "I have some more paperwork to finish, but I'll see you both for dinner," he said, stopping on his way to give Santana a kiss on the cheek, a move which obviously surprised her. "You girls have a good day."

Santana smiled, ducking her head. Rachel smiled with her.

* * *

They drove in silence for a bit, but Rachel was pleased to find that it was mostly comfortable. Santana wasn't really fidgeting in the passenger seat next to her. She looked a bit tired, but she was humming along with a song on the radio.

"Why do we have to go all the way to St Marys to go grocery shopping? I know you need special food or whatever, but I can live on frozen pizza and cookies," Santana muttered, changing the station.

"I thought we could also go to the lake while we were there," Rachel responded. She briefly considered mentioning the unhealthy nature of frozen pizza and cookies, but decided against it.

Santana's eyebrow rose. "Wow, I haven't been there since I was, god, twelve, thirteen?"

"Well, now we have to go," Rachel smiled.

"We didn't bring anything to swim in," Santana pointed out.

Rachel just shrugged and the moment passed. She continued to drive. "Have you thought about what you're going to say to everyone?"

Santana fiddled with the radio again. "Not really. I don't know what I'm supposed to say," she said honestly. "I'm sure they're all still nosy bitches and I don't know if I have the answers to the questions they're going to have."

Rachel swatted her hand away from the radio. It was apparent that changing the station and fine-tuning the audio settings was a nervous habit for the girl in the passenger seat. "I think you should be honest," she told Santana.

She wasn't surprised when she didn't receive a vocal response. There was some more playing with the radio, though.

"We don't have to swim," she smiled after a few more minutes. "We can just sit by the water and enjoy the nice day."

* * *

And it was a nice day, despite the fact that it was the middle of summer and the entire country was caught in a heat wave. They stopped at a convenience store and Rachel grabbed them some bottles of water while Santana grabbed herself a chocolate bar. They filled the biggest cups the store had with ice and Rachel laughed at Santana as she stood impatiently huffing at the machine, willing for it to give her ice faster. Santana retaliated by dropping a piece of ice down the back of Rachel's shirt.

They eventually settled at a picnic table under some trees, a small distance from where the sand of the beach started. Rachel was immensely grateful for the shade. Santana stepped up and sat on the table with her feet planted on the bench and Rachel decided to sit down on the actual bench itself. She left a bit of space between them under the pretense of sitting their cups between them. There was tension between them sometimes and Rachel didn't want to push things. She couldn't always place the source of the tension but it nevertheless seemed to creep in at varying intervals.

Santana filled their cups with water and Rachel greedily drank hers. She watched Santana pull her hair up into a sloppy bun as she gazed at the beach. Rachel turned her gaze out over the water.

There were kids playing in the sand and splashing around in the shallow areas. Some of the smaller ones had water wings on their arms and they clung to their parents tightly as they played in the lake. Rachel could see a few teenagers a bit further out, some of them dunking each other while others (obviously couples) were swimming languidly as they exchanged wet kisses.

Santana shuffled closer to her, pressing her legs against Rachel's arms. When Rachel glanced over at her, her eyes were still fixed on the lake, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"I used to come here in the summer with Brittany's family," she said softly, still smiling. "We were seven the first time they invited me and I didn't know how to swim so Brittany tried to teach me." She chuckled. "She ended up almost drowning me, though, and her dad had to come out and get us because we drifted too far out."

Rachel didn't respond. There was a slight breeze trying to drift through the trees and there were families laughing all around them. Rachel could picture Brittany's family among them, all blonde hair and long limbs, a little brunette Santana trailing along with them. It was a sweet picture and Rachel didn't see the need to add any words to it.

Santana rested her elbows on her knees. "This is nice," she said softly.

Rachel smiled gently. She let herself lean over, resting her head against the other girl's knee. Santana didn't move away from her and Rachel's smile brightened. "Yes, it is," she whispered.

She felt fingers run through her hair softly and a quiet but content sigh echo from beside her. They stayed like that for a bit, Rachel leaning against Santana's leg as they sipped their own waters. It was a sweet moment, too, and Rachel didn't feel the need to add any words to it, either.

"You were wrong last night," she said after about a half hour. She felt the leg she was leaning against tense. "I wasn't always sure of myself. I had my own doubts and insecurities. I let Kurt give me a makeover because I thought I had to be someone else for Finn to want me. Remember when I almost got a nose job?"

"I'm sorry," Santana blurted out. Rachel glanced up at her curiously. "I'm sorry for all the shit I put you through back then. Your dad told me that you worried about me sometimes, even though I was a total bitch to you."

Rachel shook her head. "I wasn't telling you these things because I expect you to apologize to me. I was trying-"

"I know," Santana interrupted. "But it still needed to be said." She raised her sunglasses to sit on top of her head. Her eyes were soft and her smile was sweet and Rachel felt her stomach flutter. "I'm sorry, Rachel."

Rachel wrapped her arm around Santana's leg, resting her hand against the other girl's ankle. "I forgave you for those things a long time ago. Even back then-"

"Rachel!" came a voice from in front of them.

"It appears as though my day is going to be filled with people interrupting me," she quipped before standing up. She wasn't annoyed, not really, not when Kurt Hummel was standing in front of her, practically beaming.

Rachel wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Kurt! I'm so happy to see you. I wasn't expecting to run into you here," she pulled back, looking over him. "You're as fashionable as ever, I see."

"Naturally," he replied cheekily. He was dressed in simple navy swimtrunks and a sleeveless white t-shirt, but they fit him perfectly. His hair was styled and he was dry, but Rachel could see sand clinging to his calves and his back.

He was one of the few people from high school that Rachel had kept in touch with. They didn't see each other often, but they spoke on the phone as much as they could. "Is Blaine with you?" she asked, glancing around.

"Of course. We brought his nephew here for the day. The heat has been unbearable," he answered. "And what about you? You don't look like you're dressed for the beach. Then again, knowing you, there's no telling what you might try to pass off as swimwear," Kurt said in jest, grinning.

Kurt looked around Rachel before she could answer and he finally seemed to notice the person sitting on the picnic table. "Oh my god, Santana?" he cried.

Santana stood up awkwardly and Rachel could feel her nerves shaking from where she stood. "Who else around here could ever look this good?" she smirked. Kurt seemed to be in shock and Rachel didn't think he noticed how tense Santana looked, how despite the fact that she was exuding her usual attitude, she was still very uncomfortable and unsure of herself. Rachel wondered when she had started to notice the subtle nuances of Santana.

Kurt pulled Santana into a hug before pulling back and holding Santana out at arm's length. "Look at you. Oh my god, I'm shocked. I don't even know what to say. You've rendered me speechless."

Santana laughed politely. "It's good to see you, too," she said, casting pleading eyes over at Rachel.

"Where on earth have you been? We were all so worried about you," he said, echoing words Rachel had told Santana many times before. "And what are the two of you doing here together?" he asked, directing his last question at Rachel curiously.

"I've been in New York," Santana answered, shrugging a bit. "I ran into Rachel there and she told me that everyone was going to be in town."

"And after much coaxing, I managed to convince Santana to accompany me back here to our hometown for our annual glee barbecue," Rachel added, stepping next to Santana and hoping that she might pick up on Rachel's show of support.

Rachel considered taking Santana's hand in what had become a familiar gesture of comfort for the two of them, but Santana crossed her arms. Rachel wondered if Santana had known what she was thinking or if this was just Santana being Santana; she concluded that it could be either one.

"As lovely as it has been to run into you, Kurt, I'm afraid we must be going," Rachel said. "Our visit to St. Marys isn't purely one of pleasure. We're going shopping. My fathers didn't have time to acquire sufficient vegan options for my stay with them."

"She is a freakishly picky eater," Santana chuckled, nodding at Rachel. "You are the most food-obsessed person I have ever met in my entire life."

Rachel glared at her. "Well when one has limited options from which to choose, one tends to get a bit obsessive about these things."

Santana smirked. "So you admit that you have an obsessive personality?"

"That should come as a surprise to no one," Kurt supplied. Rachel looked back over at him and was met with another curious look. He seemed to be watching their interactions with interest, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, I'm not surprised," Santana laughed. "I'm just trying to get her to admit it."

Rachel shifted her attention between glaring at the both of them. They were ganging up on her, but she found that didn't mind. It was all good-natured and Rachel was just happy that Santana had relaxed in Kurt's presence. It made her hopeful for the impending barbecue.

The two continued to banter about her and Rachel cleared her throat. "As much fun as it is to stand here and let you two insult me, we really should be going. We still need to go shopping and then we need to make dinner, Santana."

Kurt nodded. "I should go find Blaine and his nephew," he responded, hugging both of them. "It was lovely to see you again, Santana, and I'm now even more excited for the barbecue."

"Don't tell anyone, Kurt," Santana said quickly. "It's a surprise."

"Your secret's safe with me," he responded, zipping his lips up with his fingers and miming the act of throwing away the key.

They said their goodbyes and Rachel gripped Santana's elbow lightly, guiding her away from their former classmate. She waved at him over her shoulder.

"Wait, did you say 'we'? Why do I have to make dinner?" Santana asked, clearly annoyed.

Rachel didn't answer, but she smirked when she heard Kurt laughing behind them.

* * *

Shopping was actually a relatively quick affair – years of negotiating a poor selection of vegan offerings gave Rachel enough knowledge to know what she wanted and Santana didn't really care as long as Rachel let her get a couple of frozen pizzas and a pack of cookies. Rachel tried to protest, but Santana had pouted, just barely, and Rachel ended up sighing and giving in. After about an hour, they had the car loaded up and they were on their way back to Lima.

"I meant what I said, earlier, Santana," she said as she drove them back towards Lima. "I forgave you for the things you did to me years ago."

Santana looked at her, surprised. "You did?"

Rachel nodded. The sun was setting as she drove, radiating a warm summer glow throughout the car. "You were so happy in glee club. When you were singing and dancing, you didn't care about your reputation and maintaining your status. They were some of the only times you ever looked genuinely happy. That's when I knew it was an act," she started, chancing a glance over at Santana. Santana was watching her, her face unreadable but not hostile.

"During our junior year, you seemed so lonely and so hurt. And that only continued into our senior year. You softened a bit that year, but you still lashed out at everyone," Rachel continued, keeping her eyes on the road.

"That's why I worried. Whatever you were going through was obviously hard for you and I could see that you were taking it out on the people around you instead of dealing with it. I think that's really when I forgave you – when I could see that you were struggling and hurting. I never excused your behavior, Santana, but I could see that it came from a place of deep pain. It made deciding to forgive you much easier."

She chanced a look over at Santana as she turned the headlights on. Her expression was no longer unreadable. Rachel could see that she was shocked.

"Wow," Santana breathed out. Rachel saw a tear slip out from underneath her sunglasses, sliding down her face slowly. She pulled the sunglasses off and rubbed at her eyes.

"Your actions always said more than your words ever could. Just because you didn't tell us who you were doesn't mean that we didn't know you," Rachel whispered.

"Pull over," Santana whispered back. Rachel went to say something, but Santana cut her off. "Just pull over, Rachel," she murmured, her voice cracking.

Rachel did as she was asked and as she turned the car off, she felt herself being pushed back against the door. Santana had launched herself over the center console practically into Rachel's lap as she pulled the shorter brunette into a fierce hug.

Rachel wrapped one arm around Santana's waist and held her close. She brought her other arm up to wrap around Santana's neck, her hand cradling the back of her head. It felt familiar and it felt right and Rachel didn't say anything.

"How do you always know what to say?" Santana muttered into her neck. "How do you keep bringing me to this? I was doing fine before you showed up."

"I just try to tell the truth." Rachel moved her hand, running it through the thick hair of the girl in her arms. "Were you really doing fine?" she asked quietly, knowing what the truth was but needing to hear it, needing for Santana to say it.

Santana was silent for a couple of minutes. "No," she finally said. "But I wasn't crying all the time, either."

Rachel squeezed her tightly, holding her in place. "But that's life, Santana," she responded. "We have to deal with our lives, our pasts and our presents. And maybe we cry a little-"

"-or a lot," Santana mumbled, her voice muffled.

Rachel could feel a few tears forcing their way out of her eyes. "Stop interrupting me," she gently rebuked, laughing a bit. "Maybe we cry a lot, but after we deal with our lives and our pasts, after we face them, we feel better; we feel lighter, calmer."

She stroked the back of Santana's head, shifting a little in her seat. "The memories, all the things we've been through, they stay with us. They don't ever really leave," she whispered. "But they don't haunt us anymore; they just remind us of who we are and what we had to go through to get to where we are now."

Santana pulled away from her slightly and Rachel's breathe caught in her throat. The sun was almost gone now, the last vestiges of light clinging to them as they tried to disappear into darkness. Santana was crying and her hair was mussed and she had never looked more beautiful to Rachel as she did then – her eyes were soft and tender, her gaze vulnerable and searching, looking for something in the glowing sunlight.

"Where am I now?" Santana breathed.

Rachel reached out and tucked a piece of Santana's hair behind her ear. She tried to swallow her own tears as she looked at the girl in front of her. "You're right here, Santana. You're right here with me. That's where you're supposed to be," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

Santana's eyes glistened and Rachel could feel the hands on her waist trembling. "You make me feel like everything could be okay," she whispered. Her voice was deep and raspy and Rachel was suddenly aware of how close they were, how Santana was practically on top of her, her hands wrapped around her.

"Because it will be okay, Santana," she answered and before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and pressed her lips softly against Santana's own, just for a moment. She wanted to linger, wanted to stay there and let their tears mingle, but she pulled away quickly.

Santana's eyes were closed and Rachel watched her take a deep breath before she opened them. She ran one of her hands across Rachel's cheek, wiping away a few tears. "Thank you," she said, a soft smile on her face.

"You're welcome," Rachel responded earnestly, smiling back at her.

Santana started to pull away from her, moving back into her own seat. She suddenly surged forward and kissed Rachel again, her touch so light Rachel thought she might have imagined it - it was darker now and she couldn't see as well. She felt a hand find hers and lace their fingers together.

Rachel started the car back up and pulled on to the road. They spent the rest of the ride home in comfortable silence. She felt Santana squeeze her hand gently as they reached Lima.

She could feel eyes on her as she drove, hands wrapped around her own, a light kiss across her knuckles. It was another sweet moment that Rachel didn't feel the need to add any words to.


	13. Chapter 13

There were a lot of moments in her life that Santana regretted. There were words and actions she wished she could take back. She wouldn't change who she was – she was a bitch and she knew it; she embraced it when she needed to and she never let anyone walk all over her. But there were moments, times when she pushed things too far, or when she pushed in the wrong direction. On dark lonely nights, she would lie awake and replay every moment she regretted, letting the memories flow through her and consume her until she eventually fell into a restless sleep.

Standing next to Rachel outside of Will Schuester's house in the middle of summer four years after she had abruptly left Lima, Santana wondered if she was going to regret this trip.

She glanced over at Rachel as they leaned against their rental car, followed the line of Rachel's profile. She watched Rachel's lips curve up into a bright smile, could feel the excitement radiating from her body. She remembered kissing Rachel just a couple of days prior; she remembered how Rachel had looked at her, really and truly looked at her, and brushed their lips together. She remembered how calming Rachel's presence was, how reassuring her kiss had been. She remembered the comfort more than anything and she let it fill her.

They hadn't spoken about the fact that they had kissed. Santana knew they both had other things on their minds. There were more pressing matters at hand for both of them. Nothing had changed between them since they had kissed and so Santana was content to let the matter rest until the time was right. There were so many other talks and actions that needed to happen first.

Santana watched Rachel and could see that she was about to burst at the seams if they waited any longer. She chuckled and Rachel turned to look at her.

"Are you ready?" Rachel asked.

Santana shrugged, feigning nonchalance and hoping Rachel wouldn't call her on it. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Rachel tugged on her hand, pulling her towards the side of the house. There was a path that led to a gate and Santana felt her chest tighten. She could hear sounds coming from the backyard and she was struck by déjà vu. She had heard their voices so many times in her head, but suddenly they were real; their soundbites were coming from real people instead of the voice track in her head.

Rachel stopped before they reached the gate and turned around, grabbing Santana's free hand. "I know you're nervous, Santana, and I know you're scared," she started. "But try to remember that these are your friends, even if you haven't seen them in four years. They love you just as much now as they did then."

Santana's eyebrows furrowed. Rachel was trying so hard to reassure her, to guide her. She was standing in front of Santana with a bright smile and soft eyes and Santana wanted nothing more than to believe her. "That's not as reassuring as you think it is, Rach," she answered, coughing a bit when her voice wavered.

"Then let me rephrase: they loved you then and that hasn't changed," Rachel said firmly.

Rachel raised up and dropped a soft kiss on her cheek and Santana's eyelids fluttered. She took a deep breath and tried to remember what Rachel had told her in the car – that facing your demons made you lighter. Santana felt so heavy, so weighed down that she wondered sometimes how she could even move.

Rachel tugged on her hand again, pulling her towards the gate. Rachel let go of her and pushed her way through the gate. Santana didn't follow, not yet; she still felt too heavy. Her legs felt like they were made of lead and Santana mentally cursed because her inability to move also kept her from running away. Or maybe it that was Rachel, who had so carefully pulled her through the wasteland of her feelings, that kept her from running away.

"Hello, my fellow glee clubbers," Rachel announced cheerfully. Santana heard various happy greetings shouted her way and Santana almost laughed because she couldn't remember many times that the glee club had been that happy to see Rachel Berry standing in front of them.

Santana watched Rachel look over expecting to see her right next to her. Rachel rolled her eyes when she saw Santana standing back beside the house, hidden from sight. Rachel stomped over to her and grabbed her hand.

"Oh, for goodness sake, get over here," Rachel muttered, pulling her along before Santana had a chance to react, before she could drag her heels and prevent the inevitable.

Santana froze when Rachel stopped tugging her, feeling every bit like a deer in headlights. She didn't get any immediate happy greetings, but that didn't surprise her; the glee club had rarely greeted her with enthusiasm. She felt Rachel drop her hand.

She heard some gasps and what sounded like Quinn saying, "Oh, my god." She heard Kurt yell "surprise."

There was a very long moment of silence, permeated only by the sound of the radio playing. She didn't like the song and wanted to change it immediately, to find a better station and then adjust the audio settings.

Santana looked around. They were all there, every single one of them – all of the glee kids she had practically grown up with, had sang and danced with, had fought and loved and everything in between with. Rachel was standing right next to her and Santana took her hand again.

Finn was the closest to them and he came over, dropping a kiss on Rachel's cheek. He was wearing jeans and he had a vest on over his t-shirt. Santana found that she was glad for the familiarity. Only Finn Hudson would wear a vest to a barbecue in the middle of summer. But then he surprised her by leaning down and dropping a kiss on her cheek next.

"Hey, Santana," he greeted her softly, a soft smile on his face.

Santana found that his smile was contagious and she couldn't stop herself from grinning back at him. "Frankenteen," she greeted him with a nod.

He laughed and Santana felt the tension ease a bit. She felt herself being pulled into a hug and she was suddenly surrounded by her former teammates. They were chatting at her, talking in equal parts shock and what sounded to her like happiness. She realized as she was hugging Tina that she had lost Rachel's hand at some point.

Santana greeted all of them in the best way she knew how: by every old nickname she could remember – Wheezy, Trouty Mouth, Count Boozy, Stubbles, Asian, Other Asian. Where they might have been said harshly at some point, they were laced with nothing but sincerity now. It reminded her of Nationals their senior year, when she had hugged every single one of them after their win.

Quinn pulled her into a hug slowly and held her there for a long moment. "Look who finally showed up," she said, nothing by affection in her voice. "You're late, but that's nothing new."

Santana could feel herself smiling. "You know how I love to make an entrance."

"This is just amazing, you guys," Will laughed, running his hand through his curly hair.

Kurt clapped his hands. "I knew! I totally knew she was going to be here," he yelled, turning towards Santana. "You don't know how hard it has been for me to keep this secret."

"Is this why you were freaking out yesterday?" she heard Mercedes yell out. "You look good, Satan," she added.

Santana laughed and caught Rachel's eye. She was hovering around the edge of the group, a soft smile on her face. Santana winked at her, returning her smile. She felt lighter already, just standing barely inside the gate to the Will's backyard. They were happy to see her, they were laughing and smiling, and all she could do was let their happiness seep into her.

She caught sight of someone over Rachel's shoulder, standing several feet away from everyone. Brittany Pierce was as beautiful as ever, even wearing high-waisted shorts, a simple tank top and rainbow socks that came up to her knees. Where once she had been easily readable, Santana couldn't tell what she was thinking. Her face was blank.

Rachel moved in her line of vision and she shook her head, clearing it. Santana realized with a start that Puck was standing in front of her, wearing jeans and a wife-beater. He still had that ridiculous mohawk and the sight made her smile.

"Hi, Noah," she said softly.

He didn't say anything at first and Santana watched his eyes rake over her body, appraising her. She shifted uncomfortably. She didn't know what he was checking her over for, but it made her nervous. Only he had any idea what she had been doing, what sort of life she might be leading. She wondered if Rachel had ever contacted him after they had started spending time together.

Puck pulled her into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders and bringing her close. She returned his hold gratefully, sinking into him as her hands came to rest on his back. Santana took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Puck still used the same cologne he had in high school and Santana felt tears sting her eyes.

"Welcome back," he whispered in her ear. Puck tightened his hold on her and she couldn't stop the tear that pushed its way out.

Santana wiped it away quickly, hoping no one had seen. She pulled back from him and tried to regain her balance. She glanced around, looking for suspicious eyes that might catch the falter in her emotions, but she found that the group had sort of splintered during her reunion with Puck.

Finn, Mike and Sam were over at the grill, arguing about something. Sam was waving around a matchbook and he had on his "I'm doing an impression" face. His hair was no longer long and blonde, but short and a light sandy brown color. Lauren was standing with them, obviously supervising.

Will and Artie were talking about something with Tina, who was laughing and holding a toddler on her hip. The girl was small and adorable, with Tina's long hair and bone structure. Tina put the girl down and Santana laughed when she started dancing to the song on the radio – she had Mike's sweet dance moves. She danced towards Blaine and he swooped in, offering her his hand and leading her around as she giggled.

Quinn and Puck were standing next to her. Quinn's hair was long, hanging past her shoulders. She had on a cute babydoll dress and a pair of simple flats. There was a dog Santana didn't recognize, a Labrador, and it came up to Quinn with a ball in its mouth. Quinn caught her gaze. "This is Benny. He's mine," she supplied, taking the tennis ball and tossing it across the yard. "Don't worry. He's a sweetheart."

Puck still had an arm around her shoulders. She saw a grease stain near the bottom of his t-shirt and vaguely remembered Rachel telling her once that he worked at Burt Hummel's auto garage as a mechanic.

Kurt and Mercedes were standing on her other side, whispering closely, gossiping no doubt. She smirked. Rachel had been right – some things never changed, and the glee club was one of them. Obviously, they had all grown up and were out living their lives. Yet when they came together, it was with nothing but love for each other and they had folded Santana right back into it.

She remembered the night she left everything behind, the night she had doubted them. She had forgotten that _this_ was who the glee club was – a makeshift family who welcomed her back with open arms.

"I can't believe you're here," Puck said beside her. She glanced over at him. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Santana. And then when I saw –"

Santana shook her head at him. Quinn was eyeing them suspiciously, but she was still smiling. Quinn wrapped an arm around Puck's midsection and Santana could feel the blonde's hand rest against her side. Quinn nestled herself quite lovingly against Puck's chest.

"And when did this happen?" Santana asked, gesturing between Puck and Quinn.

Puck looked at the ground sheepishly and Santana raised an eyebrow at him. "About a year after we graduated," he answered. "Quinn moved back to Lima and we just sort of reconnected."

Quinn nodded. "I went to Ohio State for a year. But, well you remember how my mom was," she said and Santana nodded (she certainly did remember how Quinn's mom was). "She sort of fell off the wagon when she was alone and she needed someone to help her out."

"What about school?" she asked.

"I got my real estate license. Noah and I moved into our own apartment, so I can hold on to my independence, but still be around to help my mom," she shrugged. Santana wondered how she felt about being in Lima, about staying behind when she had always wanted to get out. Quinn had always struggled with herself, wondering if she could ever really leave (Lima tended to do that to people). But Quinn was smiling from where she was resting under Puck's arm. There would hopefully be time for Santana to talk about their broken dreams, but for now, she was just happy to see that Quinn looked content.

She smiled at the couple and swatted Noah's stomach. "I'm happy for you guys," she said earnestly.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Santana? Because the Santana I knew would have never been okay with this," Quinn laughed.

Santana scoffed, matching Quinn's teasing tone. "Please, Q, you can have him," she responded. "This Santana is just happy that you're happy," she finished, smiling.

"And what about you?" Mercedes questioned, coming up to the group with Kurt. "Are you happy? Where you been, girl? What do you do? Are you seeing anyone? How long have you been in town? When are you leaving? Tell me everything."

"Whoa, easy there, 'Cedes," Santana answered, smirking uneasily. This was the part of the day she had been dreading the most – the questions, the gossip, the nosiness. _This_ was the part of the glee club she had been thinking about when she had left town, the judgmental part that needed to know everything. They came together at the end, but they had to break apart first.

"I happen to know that she's been in town for a few days. I ran into her and Rachel in St. Marys a couple of days ago," Kurt supplied. Santana had never been more grateful for his presence. "Speaking of Rachel," he muttered, nudging Santana and tilting his head towards the right.

Mercedes was saying something to Quinn and Puck but Santana only had eyes for what was going on across the yard. Rachel looked tense and worried, but Santana could tell that she was speaking softly. She was saying something to Brittany, who was shaking her head in response. She watched Rachel put a hand on her arm and Brittany bounced nervously.

"I can't believe that my fellow hot Jew didn't tell me that she was bringing you," Puck said, forcing her to tear her gaze away from Rachel and Brittany.

"Well I can't believe Rachel and Satan are friends," Mercedes laughed. "If you had told me four years ago that Santana and Rachel were gonna show up here acting like best friends, I would have laughed in your face."

Kurt nudged Santana again. "And holding hands, too," he said quietly, winking at her.

Santana shrugged and she could feel Kurt's knowing eyes on her. "Rachel's not so bad when you take away her animal sweaters and put her in a new city," she told them all.

"I'm actually staying with her and her dads," Santana eventually said. She was incredibly nervous and her stomach was flip-flopping inside her body. But she could see Rachel in her periphery and she knew that at least a few things needed to be said.

"Now I know you're not the real Santana," Quinn quipped.

"What about your parents?" Sam asked as he wandered over to them. He handed Santana a plastic cup filled with lemonade.

She took a sip of her drink. The eyes of those surrounding her were on her, and she could feel a few of those that weren't even in the conversation watching. The din had quieted slightly, or so it seemed. She felt light-headed. This would be a defining moment for this trip and she wasn't sure how she wanted to define it.

Her gaze flitted back towards Rachel and she caught herself wishing that the shorter brunette would come back over already.

"I didn't really leave under good circumstances," she started. "I haven't even talked to them in four years. I wasn't just going to show up and claim my old room," she finished, trying to appear more at ease than she really was.

"What happened?" Finn asked curiously. He too had wandered over to them, bringing Lauren and Mike with him. Tina, Artie, and Will had also made their way a little closer.

Santana took a deep breathe and she felt a hand slip into hers. She looked over and Rachel was looking at her expectantly. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to focus on breathing. It was hot and she was sweating. She felt the humidity pressing in around her, trying to suffocate her (or maybe it was just the feeling of being surrounded by so many curious people). Rachel squeezed her hand gently.

"You should just tell them, Lopez," Puck said from her other side, his voice soft.

Quinn pulled away slightly and looked up at him. "You knew about this?" she asked. He nodded and shrugged.

"I'm gay," she stuttered out. Sam choked on his drink and Rachel chuckled. Santana glared at her and Rachel squeezed her hand again.

"No offense, but we all had that one figured out, Santana," Kurt said kindly.

"Yeah, but my parents didn't," she answered, still looking at Rachel. The shorter brunette nodded at her. "And when they found out, they kicked me out," Santana said. "It was the night we got home from Nationals."

It was out in the open. She had put it out there and now they knew. She could feel all of them looking at her again, could hear a couple of gasps, could feel a million more questions bubbling up inside each one of them. And it scared her to death. But she was still staring at Rachel, the girl next to her, the girl holding her hand, the girl giving her strength.

Slender arms wrapped around her and she gasped, almost falling backwards. Brittany was holding her tightly and she froze. Puck's arm dropped off her shoulder and Rachel let go of her hand. She took several shallow breaths before she eventually returned Brittany's hug, sinking into the familiar embrace and closing her eyes.

Strawberries. Brittany still smelled like strawberry shampoo and the scent filled Santana's lungs until she wasn't sure she was inhaling any oxygen with it. She pulled away slowly, trying to muster up a smile for Brittany, but coming up short. The blonde placed her hands on Santana's shoulders.

"San, they kicked you out? What did you do?" she asked quietly. "I went to the park when we found out you left and I checked by the duck pond, but you weren't there. And that's where you always went. Where did you go, Santana?"

They were the first words Santana had heard from Brittany in years. She wanted them to make her happy, wanted them to remind her of all the years she had spent raising hell with her best friend. She wanted them to fill her with warmth and glee, but all they did was remind of her lonely nights spend crying in her bedroom and hopeful confessions that ended with a broken heart. They reminded her of childhood promises that if one of them needed the other one, then they would meet at the duck pond. Her throat tightened and she shrugged Brittany's hands off her shoulders.

Brittany looked hurt by her actions and it just made her even more uncomfortable. She put a hand on Puck's shoulder. "I went to my best bro," she said, aware that she had everyone's attention on her now. "Puck loaned me some money and helped me get a few things. I was on a bus to New York by the next morning."

There was silence and Santana stared at the ground beneath her feet, wishing it would swallow her whole. She knew it was a lot to take in, especially after they had spent so much time wondering about her. She closed her eyes as memories of that night came back to her, threatened to overtake her.

"You didn't say goodbye," she heard Brittany whisper and Santana stifled a sob. "You were my best friend, ever since we were six. You said we would always be best friends no matter what and you didn't even say goodbye to me."

Santana suddenly wanted to talk about what her life had been like in New York, about what she had been doing for four years, about all the things she hadn't even talked to Rachel about. She wanted to change that stupid radio station, adjust the bass settings and turn the treble down. She wanted anything that wasn't _this_ conversation. She wasn't ready for this conversation with Brittany, and she especially wasn't ready for it to happen in front of everyone.

"So you did know about all this?" she heard Quinn ask Puck. "Noah, why didn't you ever say anything? You knew how worried we were."

"She asked me not to," he muttered and Santana could hear the sadness in his voice, the regret and the hurt. "After she left that night, she never contacted me and I didn't know how to reach her. She didn't want you guys to know what happened."

"Why not?" she heard someone ask. It might have been Mike or it might have been Artie. It could have been the dog for all she knew. She felt movement around her, people shifting nearby.

Santana focused on breathing, tried to fill up her lungs with air and then release it. She could do that; she could keep breathing, or rather, she could try to. Her head was pounding and she could feel her heartbeat in her ears.

"While I am not well-versed on the cooking practices of preparing meat products, I think your food might be burning, Finn," she heard someone say and she knew it was Rachel, because no one else ever talked like that.

Someone swore and everyone around her shifted again, spreading out. Santana could feel their movements around her, and she could hear them, just barely. There was talking and whispering but she couldn't focus on any of it. All she could do was stand there numbly and feel the world move around her.

She was suddenly aware of the dog, somewhere by the grill, whining. Mike and Tina's daughter was babbling somewhere in the vicinity. The wheels on Artie's chair were squeaking and someone was shuffling in front of her.

She opened her eyes and inhaled deeply. She released all the air she had been holding in her lungs and looked up.

Quinn was the one standing in front of her, shuffling nervously

When she looked up, Quinn met her eyes. Santana looked around and saw that everyone was off somewhere else. All of the guys, excluding Kurt and Blaine, were by the grill, trying to salvage the food. Kurt and Blaine were playing with Tina and Mike's daughter in the yard. Tina was pushing Artie underneath a giant umbrella on the patio where Lauren and Mercedes were sitting. Rachel and Brittany were sitting under a tree, petting the dog.

She wondered how long she had been trying to remember what it felt like to breathe.

"Rachel called them off," Quinn said gently, resting a hand on her arm. "You kinda got away from us there for a minute."

Santana just nodded and let Quinn lead her over to a couple of chairs sitting at a table out in the yard. She was still holding her lemonade and she chugged it as she sat down. Her throat was dry and it was hot outside. The table had an umbrella and the shade felt nice on her flushed skin.

Quinn didn't say anything as she sat down across from Santana, both of them facing outwards toward the yard. Santana was grateful for her silence. It had been one of the things she remembered liking about her friendship with Quinn. They had fought, sometimes physically, and they had lashed out against each other harshly. Sue Sylvester had pit them against each other on their first day of Cheerio practice and a fierce rivalry had been born.

But sitting across from Quinn reminded her of their better moments. When they weren't competing for something, they were just friends. They could goof off and be silly with Brittany, or they could sit in companionable silence and just enjoy each other's company, drawing silent support from each other.

"So you and Rachel, huh?" Quinn asked after a few minutes. "I never would have pictured you two as friends. I always figured that if we left you guys in a room together alone, one or both of you would end up dead."

Santana shrugged. "We probably would have. I could say the same about you and me sometimes, too."

Quinn nodded and laughed slightly. "That's true. Remember when I got you demoted from Cheerio captain all the way down to the bottom of the pyramid?"

"That was a bitch move, Fabray," Santana responded, matching Quinn's grin with one of her own. "If Schue hadn't shown up, I would have ended you."

"You mean like how you ended Lauren that time?"

Santana nodded. "Yep. I went all Lima Heights."

"Sure," Quinn teased. "Lima Heights _Adjacent_ , which is why you got your ass kicked."

Santana laughed and shook her head, looking back out over everyone. "Oh, hey, what's the kid's name?" she asked.

"Cassie," Quinn smiled. "She's adorable. Puck and I babysit her sometimes and she's the sweetest little girl."

"So you and Puck are back together. Mike and Tina have a kid. What about the rest of them? What are they doing?" Santana asked curiously.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at her. "Rachel didn't tell you anything?"

"I, uh, kinda didn't want to really talk about it. I almost didn't come," she said. "I didn't really want to at first."

Quinn placed a hand over hers on top of the table. "I'm really glad you did, Santana," she responded earnestly. She reclined a bit in her chair and recounted to Santana what she knew of everyone else in the glee club.

Artie was still in school. He was attending a fantastic school on the east coast, studying engineering. He planned to attend graduate school and had already started working on application.

"The nerd is still a nerd. I'm shocked," Santana smirked.

Mike was working as a dance instructor at a local studio in Lima. Tina had just graduated from school with her teaching degree and was interviewing at local elementary schools. Cassie was the result of a broken condom one night near the end of Tina's freshman year, but she was their pride and joy.

Santana gave an "aww" at that, because the little girl was just too cute.

Kurt and Blaine lived in Chicago. Kurt was working a retail job, but was trying to open up his own boutique. Chicago was expensive and he was trying to save up as best he could. Blaine gave music lessons, teaching anything from singing to playing the piano to violin and trumpet.

"Blaine Warbler _would_ ," Santana muttered. "Kurt's not surprising, either."

Mercedes and Lauren lived in Los Angeles. Mercedes was pursuing a music career and Lauren was technically her manager, and while she was a much better one than she had been that one time her senior year, it was hard to stand out in a town full of wannabe music stars. They were holding down other jobs in the interim.

"Well as long as Lauren doesn't have her demanding fresh puppies to dry her hands with, they'll be okay," she deadpanned.

Brittany also lived in Los Angeles, but she didn't cross paths with Mercedes and Lauren much. Brittany had jumped right into working, scoring a job at a dance studio teaching and choreographing like Mike. She was obviously working on a different scale, though, and it had been good to her. She was getting ready to embark on an international tour with an acclaimed female pop star.

Santana didn't have anything to say to that, and Quinn wisely let the moment pass.

Finn and Sam worked together at McKinley High School. Finn was the quarterback coach of the football team, a job he had been given shortly after graduation. Sam had started working right after he finished high school. He wanted to help his family out more and he took whatever job would come his way. After about a year, he had been offered a job as the offensive line coach and had jumped at the chance.

"Oh my god, is Coach Sylvester there? Has she tried to kill them yet?"

Quinn laughed. "Oh, she's definitely still there, but she's too busy trying to stop the new art club to care about the football team."

"Leave it to Sue to just try and suck the life of everyone at McKinley," Santana laughed. "I will never understand what that woman has against the arts."

"I don't think I want to know. That woman is crazy. I'm can't even imagine what must go on in her head," Quinn responded.

Puck pulled up a seat and sat down next to Quinn. "Yeah, so we totally burnt all the hot dogs and hamburgers, even the veggie ones," he told them. "We decided to just order pizza."

"Did you get anything Rachel can eat?" she asked quickly before realizing what she had said. Quinn quirked an eyebrow at her. "What? She can't eat regular crap. She reminds me of that fact all the time. I'm just trying to save all of us from getting a lecture."

"Don't worry. I made sure to monitor the boys' phone call to the local pizza parlor to ensure that I at least had a salad to eat," she heard Rachel say. Rachel was dragging her own chair towards them while trying to carry some cups. Santana stood up, taking the chair from her and wedging it between her own chair and Puck.

Rachel nodded in thanks and gave Santana a cup. They made small talk, but Santana remained mostly quiet.

The atmosphere of the whole gathering had calmed back down to where it had been earlier, when she was laughing and catching up with everyone. No one was pushing her; she knew they wanted her to talk to them, to tell them everything that had happened, but none of them were trying to pry the information out of her. She remembered Quinn telling her that Rachel had called them off, and she was extremely grateful for the girl sitting next to her.

She felt a hand on her leg and she looked up.

"Right, Santana?" Rachel asked, looking at her expectantly and smiling brightly.

Santana looked at Quinn and Puck, who were also both looking at her expectantly. "Sure," she drawled, nodding. "Yeah, totally."

They all laughed at her answer and she glared at Rachel, who just seemed to laugh harder at the look on her face. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning to Quinn.

"You just agreed that you were madly in love with Finn in high school," Quinn explained.

Santana's jaw dropped. "What the – why were you people even talking about that?" she gasped, mortified.

"We weren't. We were talking about food," Puck chimed in. "But you weren't paying attention so we decided to mess with you."

"Yeah, sure, _we_ decided," Santana nodded, crossing her arms. She turned her gaze back to the laughing girl next to her. "I know you're responsible for this."

Rachel shrugged, feigning innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, Santana. I was merely making an observation based upon some of your more obvious high school behaviors. I then chose to seek affirmation that any conclusions drawn from said observations were correct."

"Yeah, sure you were," Santana scoffed, fighting the smile trying to force its way on to her face. " _You_ were the one who had thing for Frankenteen. And for his super lame sidekick," she finished, nodding at Puck.

Puck looked offended and Quinn laughed.

"You were the one unhealthily obsessed with his man-boobs," Rachel smirked, squeezing her leg.

Santana rolled her eyes again. "Lesbian," she said by way of explanation.

They all laughed then. Quinn was looking at her with an odd expression, but Santana decided not to dwell on it. She was enjoying herself and it felt too good for her to let Quinn's curiosity get to her. Kurt's knowing eyes were already following her everywhere.

"I wish you guys had been friends in high school," Puck told them. "Maybe I could have talked my way into a threesome with my favorite lesbro and my fellow hot Jew."

Quinn smacked him on the back of the head, prompting more laughter from the foursome. Rachel met her eyes and winked at her and she smiled in response. The afternoon hadn't been easy, and it wasn't over yet, but it hadn't been a complete disaster. She had almost lost herself at one point, somewhere in between Brittany and this table, but Rachel had been there almost every step of the way.

Santana remembered Rachel promising her lightness, and if this was what it felt like – smiling and laughing and reconnecting with people she had cared about – then it didn't seem so bad.


	14. Chapter 14

"Pizza! Pizza!" Cassie yelled, running up to Sam as he carried in several large cardboard boxes.

"Calm you must become, young Padawan," he laughed, putting the boxes down on the table and gesturing for everyone to come help themselves.

Santana let Rachel pull her up out of her chair and lead her over to the food. Puck and Quinn trailed along behind them and when Santana glanced back, Puck was smirking. Quinn had that odd look on her face again, like either she was trying to figure something out and like she knew something but just wanted to be sure. Santana knew that look on Quinn - like she was up to something – and Santana felt discomfort settle in her stomach. She dropped Rachel's hand.

When Rachel looked up at her, her eyebrows raised in question, Santana just shrugged. Rachel's face dropped and Santana leaned over, nudging her and giving her a small smile. She winked and watched as Rachel's face brightened up slightly. Something about that sad look on Rachel's face made her want to change the world just to get a smile. _Where did that come from?_ she wondered with a frown.

She grabbed a paper plate and decided not to think about it too much. Her stomach grumbled and she decided that food was her most important priority at the moment; she could analyze _whatever it was_ that was happening with Rachel Berry later.

Some tables got moved around and umbrellas were adjusted so that they could all settle together on the patio. Santana ended up sitting between Quinn and Tina. Puck was on the other side of Quinn, sitting next to Rachel. They chatted amicably, all getting roped up in separate conversations.

Cassie was flitting around, waving her pizza in all directions, greeting all of her parents' friends – both the ones she knew already, like Quinn and Puck, and the ones she had only met a couple of other times, like Lauren and Mercedes. Santana watched her giggling as she announced to each of them what her mommy and daddy had said about them. Mike tried to stop her, but he could only watch with great chagrin as she went to every single person.

Finn was "sorta dumb." Santana practically choked on her pizza because she laughed so hard. Finn had the good grace to chuckle along with everyone, but his face turned bright red in embarassment. Rachel put a hand on his arm in comfort and Santana couldn't help the glare that overtook her features. She caught herself and grabbed another piece of pizza.

Artie was "definitely not a robot." Cassie went on to say that she wasn't sure if she believed her mom about that. This caught Brittany's attention and she piped up to tell the young girl that he was actually a Transformer. Santana chuckled and Brittany glanced over at her, her expression soft. Santana held her gaze for a moment before she had to look away. That look – it was just too much.

Rachel was "the best singer ever" and also "the biggest diva ever." This drew laughs from everyone. Tina made to apologize and Rachel stopped her by declaring that it was, unfortunately, very true of her teenage self. "And sometimes your current self," Santana chimed in, drawing even more laughs. Rachel mock-glared at her and Santana stuck her tongue out.

She felt multiple pairs of eyes on her and decided to finish her current slice of pizza. Her face burned and she blamed it on the heat. Cassie came around to her and she was grateful for the distraction.

She (and many others) smirked expectantly. There were so many things about Santana Lopez that Mike and Tina could have told Cassie, and she was eagerly awaiting to hear what they might have been.

"Hi," Cassie chirped. "Who dis be?" she asked, in a perfect impersonation of Artie.

"Dis be Santana," she answered, laughing at the little girl.

"Oh," the girl said, frowning slightly. "Mommy says you lefted and then everybody got real sad."

There was silence and Santana felt the blood rush from her face and her heart seemed to falter. She couldn't escape – even the little girl who didn't even know her wanted to talk about it. They were all looking at her and she could feel their expectations sweeping over her.

"The kid's nothing if not honest," she heard Puck mutter.

Santana grabbed another slice of pizza. "You told your kid about me?" she asked after swallowing a bite of her newest slice. She didn't know what else to say, had no responses for Cassie, who had wandered out in the yard when none of the adults said anything. She took another bite.

"Of course we did," Tina answered. "I lost my songwriting partner. We wrote Trouty Mouth together, remember?" she jokingly answered, trying to ease some of the tension on the patio.

"It's true, though," Mike shrugged before Santana could say anything.

Santana rolled her eyes as she felt anger rise inside her. Tina had been trying to lighten things again and Mike had made a mess of them. She glared at him first, and then swept her gaze out over all of them. This was another thing about the glee club that she had always hated – they couldn't leave well enough alone; they were so bad at that, in fact, that even their offspring had picked up where they left off.

Her anger rose and she let it take her over. There were a lot of emotions that Santana Lopez had cycled through since Rachel Berry had come back into her life, and while anger had been one of them, it had been too long since she had embraced it. The thought that Rachel would be disappointed in her briefly flitted through her brain but she forced it aside.

"So what? Why does it matter? Can't it be enough for you vultures that I'm here now?" she scoffed. "Look! I'm not dead. Yay," she spat sarcastically.

There was another moment of silence and just when she thought she had pushed far enough to make them stop, Brittany spoke.

"It matters because we missed you. We were so worried about you. You hurt us, San. And then you didn't say anything about it," she said sadly and Santana's heart thudded against her chest. If it had faltered earlier, it was working itself to death now. "I even tried those soup cans that we used when we were little kids and I couldn't come outside to play. But you never answered me."

Santana softened at Brittany's words. "That's because you had both cans, Brit," she said affectionately.

"If you had come to me, I could've given you the other one," Brittany responded.

Santana's heart seemed to pound even harder and she forgot that she was supposed to be glaring at everyone. _This_ conversation was trying to happen again and she was no more ready for it than she had been an hour ago.

She shrugged, focusing on the first part of what Brittany had said. "We all hurt each other all the time, though. Finn hurt Rachel, she hurt him; Quinn hurt Sam and Finn hurt her. Artie hurt B and I hurt him physically," she answered. "That's always been who we are."

She glanced around her then. Cassie and Benny were playing out in the yard and she watched them for a few seconds. Cassie was so young and carefree. It should have been rejuvenating, but it filled Santana with regret instead. _She_ had been young and carefree once, had been innocent and full of a love for life; all she had now was anger and frustration, pain and longing. She looked around the patio tables at her former teammates – they had all been young once and life had only brought them down.

"It's not the same," Rachel said, breaking the silence hanging over the group. "This isn't you stealing Quinn's boyfriend from her. It's different and you know it."

Santana's jaw dropped. Four and a half years ago, perhaps Rachel Berry would have called her on her attempts to deflect. But the Rachel Berry sitting a few seats away from her was supposed to be different. This Rachel had found her in New York City and brought her all the way home, had held her close and wiped away her tears and kissed her, _kissed her_ just a couple of nights ago. Santana needed _that_ Rachel with her, not the one who was going to call her out in front of everyone.

"Don't push me, Rachel," she practically growled. She wanted to add in an old insult just for good measure, but she couldn't make herself.

"Someone has to," Rachel shot back, clearly exasperated.

Santana's anger grew and she let it consume her. "I don't know what you're expecting from me," Santana said, glaring at her.

"Honesty," Rachel responded immediately. "While I would never deign to speak for others-" she started, pressing on when Santana snorted, "I think I speak for everyone here when I say that I expect honesty."

Santana rolled her eyes again. "Can't it all just be water under the bridge?" she sighed. "We're not in high school anymore, okay? Let's just move on."

"It's not water under the bridge if you've built a dam ten miles upstream," Rachel said, her voice rising in both pitch and volume.

"What the –" she scoffed. "Drop the stupid analogy."

"Wait," Brittany chimed in.

"You started this 'stupid analogy,' Santana," Rachel said.

"A dam?" Brittany interrupted again. "San, are you a beaver?"

"What?" Santana tore her eyes away from Rachel, glancing over at Brittany. "No, B, I'm not a beaver."

"She might as well be," she heard Rachel mutter.

"Shut up, Rachel," she finally snapped.

"No," Rachel snapped back at her. "You need to say it, Santana."

Santana flung her plate away from her and stood up, ready to storm off. She was so angry. Rachel had led her so sweetly and carefully into the lion's den, had been with her every step of the way. And then suddenly she had morphed into one of the lions, ready to pick her to her bones and then spit out whatever was left of her.

She felt a hand grab hers before she could move and she stopped. Brittany was standing beside her. The blonde's fingers skirted across Santana's palm and she linked their pinkies. She stared at their hands between them. The way it felt, Brittany's pinky wrapped firmly around hers in comfort, was so familiar and it made her heart ache. "Santana-"

The sound of Brittany's voice pulled her out of her trance. She ripped her hand away. "What do you want me to say?" she cried. "That I left because I didn't have anyone to go to? That you people were the only friends I had and I still treated you like crap?"

"What else could I have done?" Santana yelled at them. "If I had shown up at any of your houses crying in the middle of the night, you would have called me a drunk and slammed the door in my face! And I can't even hold that against you! Because I would have deserved it!"

"Santana, that's not-" someone started. It might have been Finn or it might have been Sam but Santana couldn't pin it down. She was too angry to focus on who was saying what, but she was fully prepared to pounce on the speaker when a voice stopped her.

"Momma, what's a drunk?" Cassie asked.

Tina stood up and grabbed the girl, leading her inside the house. "Nothing to worry about sweetie," Santana heard her say, her voice growing softer as she moved into the house. "How about some cartoons?"

"Now you know that's true," Mercedes said bravely. "You were Satan, but you were our Satan."

"You didn't even give us a chance," Finn said next.

Santana scoffed. "Oh, please, you wouldn't have even answered the door, Frankenteen."

"Well, I would have," Tina told her, sitting back down in her chair.

Santana saw Rachel nod and she saw red. She wanted the plates they were using to be porcelain so that she could break them, wanted their cups to be glasses so she could throw them against the brick house.

Rachel said, "They're right, Santana. You never gave any of us a chance."

"I gave you all a million chances!" she spat out immediately, throwing her hands up in Rachel's direction. "I gave you so many chances and you never did anything!" Rachel went to say something, but Santana stopped her. "And that's _my_ fault because I wouldn't let you!"

"You don't think I get that, Rachel?" Santana yelled. "You don't think I wake up every day and realize the mistakes I made? You don't think I wake up every single fucking day and hate myself for pushing away the only people who might have cared about me?"

"And that's a really big _might_ ," she added. Santana halfheartedly realized that she was ranting now, but she couldn't stop anymore. Years of frustration had built up inside her and they weren't stopping. "Because you can all sit around here now years later and tell me all the things you would have done for me, but it doesn't mean anything anymore. We can't take it back. _I_ can't take it back."

"Maybe you guys would have been fucking saints," she hissed. "Or maybe you just would have been judgmental bitches. Can you blame me for now taking a chance on a bunch of people who didn't even like me? All any of us did was fight and hurt each other. And you're going to get on to me because I didn't want to put my faith in you? I don't think so," Santana spat.

She could feel her body shaking. Her breathing was labored and a light sheen of sweat covered her body. Words were spilling out of her unbidden and she couldn't stop them. She wondered if this was what hysteria felt like. She was sixteen again, letting Finn and Puck and countless other boys use her for sex, always trying to make herself feel normal but always ending up feeling worse. She was seventeen again, being singled out and ganged up on my every single one of the people who claimed to be her friends.

"I wasn't going to put my faith in a bunch of people who were always the first ones to make sure that everyone knew that all I was good for was sex," she told them. She heard her voice shake and that just made her angrier. She growled. "I wasn't going to trust anyone who told me that all I could do was be a stripper."

She laughed mirthlessly, her head shaking. "And the best part of all of this, the best fucking part, is that I did. That's what I grew up to be," she directed at Rachel. "So I get to wake up every day and regret that I didn't take a chance on people who didn't care about me _and_ I get to regret that they were fucking right about everything they ever fucking said about me."

"There?" she shouted at Rachel. "Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?"

Santana stormed off then, only getting through the gate before breaking down. She made it to the front porch before she had to sit down, tears forcing their way out of her eyes and down her face. She wiped at them angrily as she let herself drop to the front steps. She pressed her palms to her eyes and tried to stop herself from crying.

She cursed Rachel Berry. She had kissed her, she had fucking kissed her. And then it had blown up in her face. "God," she muttered, shaking her head as she realized what she had done. She had told them so much, unleashed so much of her anger at them. It was all out in the open and it was all out there for everyone to see and all she could do was cry.

"Now what?" she murmured harshly.

She buried her head in her hands. She had been right to wonder if this trip would be a regret; it already was. She was a just few days into it and it was already something she wished she could take back.

Santana wanted to be back in New York, in her horrible appointment. She wanted to go back a few months, before Rachel had shown up at the club, when everything was sad and miserable. It had at least been stable and consistent in its relentless pain. Everything with Rachel was new and volatile. She never knew what she was supposed to expect. Nothing was consistent and she hated it. She hated Rachel for putting her in that place.

And yet Santana Lopez had never respected Rachel Berry more than she did at that moment, crying on the front porch of their high school glee club coach's house. Rachel had pushed her, fought her and baited her because she knew that everything Santana had yelled at them otherwise never would have come out. Rachel knew how to push every single one of her buttons until she was spewing out all of her secrets.

"Fuck," she cursed.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked.

She sobbed. "Fuck," she repeated. "What do you want, Brittany?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," Brittany responded softly. She pulled one of Santana's hands away from her face and linked their pinkies again.

Santana didn't pull away this time. "I hate Rachel," she muttered with a shake of her head. She could feel Brittany's pinky connected with her own. She should have pulled away but it was comforting in a sense, to have such a familiar gesture of consolation directed at her. Like so many things with Brittany, it both hurt her deeply and helped her immensely.

"No, you don't, San," the blonde said softly. "You really like her. And she really likes you."

Santana sighed. "I know," she whispered. "But look what she made me do."

She wanted to tell Brittany to leave her alone, to just go away. But Brittany was sitting next to her, holding her pinky like her life depended on it, looking sad and heartbroken and Santana couldn't send her away. Brittany had been her best friend for almost her entire life and she couldn't make her leave.

"Rachel got you to be honest," Brittany muttered. "That's what you needed to do."

Santana shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe we could have just eaten our pizza in peace," she said bitterly.

"But then we wouldn't know all that stuff you told us. And we needed to hear it," Brittany nodded. "Like when you would hear a new song and you'd make me listen to it because you said I just had to hear it."

Santana chuckled despite herself. "Yeah, I guess it's kind of like that," she said, humoring her former friend.

Brittany smiled at her sweetly and then turned to the side. Rachel was coming towards them, a sheepish look on her face. The blonde beckoned Rachel forward and the brunette sat down on the other side of Brittany. Santana wanted to be angry at her, wanted to start screaming at her on sight. She decided she would do it in Spanish because then she could say some of the more harsh things on the tip of her tongue without feeling bad, justifying that Rachel couldn't be hurt by words she didn't even understand. And then she decided against it; it just didn't feel right. All of the adrenaline that had been rushing through her in the backyard was draining now. Santana closed her eyes for a few seconds, then reopened them.

"We have to talk, San," Brittany said to her. "Just you and me."

Santana nodded. "I know, B."

"Duck pond?" Brittany asked knowingly.

"Yeah, Britt. Duck pond," she humored again. There was nothing else for her to do. She wanted to be angry, but she was already starting to feel drained. She had cycled through so many emotions that she didn't know which one to settle on anymore.

Brittany let go of her pinky. Santana wiped at the lingering tears on her cheeks as she watched the blonde stand up in front of her. She watched Brittany lean in to hug her, but she ducked her head and moved back slightly. Brittany stood back up sadly and Santana's heart panged. Brittany always had such an effect on her – even when she wanted to be angry at her, the moment Brittany looked sad, she wanted to do anything she could to make the other girl happy again.

"Bye, Santana," she murmured gently.

Santana didn't say anything, just nodded at her again before the blonde walked away from them, heading around the house to the back yard.

Rachel cleared her throat and Santana turned her attention to the brunette sitting near her. Santana watched her warily.

"I hate you," Santana muttered halfheartedly, looking away from Rachel towards the bright green grass on the lawn in front of them.

"I know," Rachel said simply, looking out over the street with her. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Santana shot back, unable to stop herself from sniffling. She should have been screaming at Rachel, should have been fighting her with everything she had.

"I am," Rachel answered. "I know you're angry about what happened back there, and you have every right to be. But it needed to be done, and we both know that if I hadn't pushed you like that, you never would have said anything."

"No, I wouldn't have," Santana hissed. "Because it's none of their business."

Rachel shrugged. "Maybe you're right."

Santana looked at her curiously. "Then why the hell did you –"

"Do you remember why we're here?" the shorter girl interrupted her. "We're here because you need to heal. And you can't do that unless you get everything out. It doesn't matter if you think it's their business. You still needed to tell them."

Santana just shrugged. Rachel made a good point, like she always did, and Santana couldn't refute it. She could have tried, but she didn't have the energy to even make an attempt. When she looked over, Rachel had moved even closer to her, sitting right against her. Rachel wrapped an arm against her waist, squeezing her slightly.

"I still hate you," she muttered.

"I know," Rachel whispered, standing up and pulling Santana up with her. "Let's go home. You can hate me in a place with air conditioning."

Santana just nodded and let herself be led to the car. "You're wrong," she whispered quietly, sure that the girl in front of her couldn't hear her. "I don't feel better," she murmured inaudibly at Rachel's back. Rachel gave her a gentle smile before she walked around to the other side of the car. "I don't feel anything."

Rachel started up the car and turned to her. "That's because it's not over yet," Rachel told her.

Santana's eyebrows raised and she stuttered. She felt Rachel place a hand on her cheek and she felt her eyes slip closed. She shuddered. It didn't feel right – she had exploded at all of them, including Rachel. It didn't feel wrong, either, to let Rachel comfort her.

"There are still many things that need to be said," she heard Rachel whisper, her voice deep and soothing. "There are still so many things that _we_ need to say to one another."

Santana didn't say anything for a long moment, couldn't bring herself to respond. She felt tears starting to build up inside her again. She had already said so many things and she was so wound up from them that she couldn't make heads or tails of what she was feeling.

When Santana opened her eyes, Rachel was watching her carefully, her eyes raking over every inch of Santana's face. "I'm going to be there for all of them, okay?" the shorter brunette said, trailing her hand down Santana's face.

"I still hate you," Santana muttered, having to look away from Rachel's intense gaze.

She felt Rachel take her hand, lacing their fingers together before turning to face the road. "I know," she said. "But I'm still going to be there."

A few tears fell down Santana's face. "I know."


	15. Chapter 15

Santana and Rachel drove back to the Berry home in complete silence. It was only ten minutes away from Mr. Schuester's home and Rachel was happy to enjoy the quiet the car ride afforded them Santana after attending a barbecue bursting at the seems with people.

She cast a glance over at Santana in the passenger seat. Her face was blank and expressionless, her eyes fixed on the line of houses they were passing on the street. Rachel worried her bottom lip when she saw the empty look on the taller girl's face. Guilt flooded her upon the realization that she had been the one to put into motion the outbursts that would bring them to this point.

Rachel had pushed Santana, and she had pushed her hard. But Rachel had been there at the barbecue, watching Santana freeze and lose herself at the mere mention of why she had left. It was then that she had known that there would be no other way. Santana had shown extreme reluctance and avoidance when faced with talking about feelings and emotions more than she had opened up.

She had been watching the past systematically eat away at Santana until she would just shut down, ignore it and hope that it would go away. Santana had so many feelings, so many things inside her trying to force their way out, and Rachel knew that the only way they were going to escape was if someone pulled them out.

She squeezed Santana's hand gently as she pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. Santana didn't return her grip and Rachel frowned as the other girl pulled away and got out of the car.

They walked inside and Rachel heard her fathers talking in the living room. Santana started to walk upstairs and Rachel reached out and took her hand again, stopping her on the bottom step, unwilling to let her go so easily.

Santana turned around and Rachel was relieved that she didn't take her hand back. Her eyes were staring at the ground so intently Rachel thought she was trying to will a hole to appear in it. "I just need some alone time, okay?" she muttered, giving Rachel's hand a soft squeeze. She lifted her gaze and Rachel could see some unshed tears.

Unable to do anything else, Rachel just nodded. "Dinner will most likely be in a couple of hours. I'll come get you then?"

Santana sent her a small smile and Rachel could see how grateful she was. "That would be nice," she whispered. "I'm just…"

"You're still mad at me," Rachel supplied. "I understand that. I hope you won't be mad at me forever," she finished.

Santana shook her head sadly and slipped her hand of Rachel's own slowly. Her touch had been so warm and suddenly Rachel was left with only a cold feeling spreading up her arm from her empty fingers. "I need to be by myself right now," Santana whispered, turning away and walking upstairs.

Rachel stood there until she heard the door of the guest bedroom click shut upstairs. She sighed and walked into the living room.

Hiram and Leroy were seated on the couch, nestled together under a blanket as they watched a movie. When they noticed her walk in, they adjusted themselves until they were sitting up fully. Hiram gestured for her to sit beside him.

Rachel crawled under the blanket and settled against her dad's side, smiling when he wrapped an arm around her. Being around her fathers, being able to cuddle with them under a blanket on the couch took her back to being a little girl, running to her parents scared because it was thunder and lightning were fighting outside her bedroom window. They would pull her into bed with them and make sure she was comfortable, snuggled up under their thick blankets. Leroy would sing her a lullaby and she would drift back off to sleep without a care or worry in the world. Her dads had always a source of comfort for her.

"How was the barbecue, sweetheart?" Leroy asked, turning the volume on the television down.

"It went well at first," she started, "and then it was tense. Next came a period of serenity and peace that was immediately followed by disaster."

Hiram nodded understandably. "That sounds like a typical glee club meeting."

"How was Santana?" Leroy queried, leaning forward to get a better look at his daughter.

Rachel sighed. "She was well at first. Then she was tense. Next came a period wherein she was relatively calm and at peace until I opened my mouth to disastrous results."

Hiram looked at her pointedly. "As I was saying, it was a typical glee club meeting," he winked and Rachel couldn't fight the small smile that came over her face.

"Yes, it certainly sounds like it," Leroy humored Hiram, nudging him with his elbow. "But what actually _happened_ , Rachel?"

Rachel pressed her cheek against her father's chest. "Everyone was really happy to see Santana. They were shocked. Naturally, they had several questions for her and the more they asked her, the more upset she got. Daddy, she just froze," she explained. "I managed to get everyone to leave her alone for a bit until she calmed down."

Her fathers nodded sympathetically and Rachel pressed on. "The guys ordered some food and we were sitting together eating. Mike and Tina's daughter brought up Santana leaving. It's so startling to see the differences in her when someone even mentions her sudden disappearance from Lima. Sometimes, she looks so happy and carefree, but then suddenly, it's like she's being doused in cold water."

"She's obviously been through a lot, Rachel – getting kicked out by her parents, and from the way you talk, New York hasn't been the best city to her," Leroy told her, leaning over his husband to take her small hand in his own large one. "She needs time to process everything. This can't be easy for her."

Rachel sighed again, trying to draw from her fathers' strength. "I pushed her, daddy. And I think I may have pushed her too hard. I just didn't know what else to do," she rushed out. "Santana is so protective of herself. She would have just kept everything locked up inside of her and this trip would be a waste."

"It's so nice to know how little our daughter cares to visit us," Hiram said teasingly.

"You know what I mean, dad," Rachel admonished, sighing yet again. "I manipulated her into a hysterical outburst. She screamed at everyone and then she shut down. But my intentions were noble – I'm trying to help her."

She felt Leroy release her hand and she frowned. "You're right, babygirl. You did go too far. These kinds of things have to be on Santana's terms, not yours."

"But if we operate on Santana's terms then nothing will get done," she told them. "Her terms usually include hiding somewhere and refusing to speak to anyone."

Rachel could feel Hiram stroke her hair affectionately and she leaned into him even further. "Be that as it may, she needs a friend to hold her hand and guide her, not force her into situations she can't handle."

Rachel felt a few tears leak out of her eyes and she wrapped her hands around her dad. She didn't have a response for him – he was right and the thought made her heart constrict uncomfortably.

Sensing her need to talk about something else, Hiram spoke up again. "You never told us how your audition went, Rachel. The one you had a couple days before you left."

Rachel shook her head. She felt low enough already and she really didn't want to get into a detailed discussion on her most recent audition. "It went…okay," she said finally.

She watched both men exchange a look and then focus on her. "Just okay? Not 'brilliant' or 'simply outstanding'?" Leroy asked curiously.

Rachel sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time and a couple more unwelcome tears pushed their way out of her eyes. "No, I can definitely conclude that it was 'just okay.' They, uh, haven't called me back to officially decline offering me the role, but I feel confident in my assessment that I will not get the part."

"What happened, sweetheart?" Leroy questioned. "You were preparing for that audition for weeks."

Rachel cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes. "I may have let myself get distracted by other pressing matters and allowed some of my practice time to be allotted for dealing with said other pressing matters," she said, sniffling a bit.

"And do these other pressing matters have to do with Santana?" Leroy asked knowingly. She could hear that he was curious about Santana, perhaps more than he already had been. For Rachel Berry to give up valuable audition practice and preparation time for someone else was a rarity – that person had to be special. Rachel sensed a million more questions hovering just beneath the one he had asked, most of them probably having to do with the nature of the word "friend." And she didn't yet have the proper answers to those questions.

"Perhaps some of them might pertain to Santana," she said vaguely. "Work has been keeping me busy as well."

Hiram nodded. "Mm-hmm."

Rachel pulled away from him then. "There will be other auditions, of course," she told them, fixing on her best actress face. "This role probably just wasn't right for me," she lied – it was the ideal role for her. "I'm positive that my talent will see me through many more auditions until I find the perfect part in which to make my Broadway debut."

Hiram brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Of course it will, sweetie. You're our little star."

"Hey Rachel?" a voice cut through their family moment. Rachel turned around to see Santana standing awkwardly at the doorway as she ran a hand through her hair. "Can we talk?" she asked softly.

Rachel nodded immediately, standing up. "We'll catch up with you at dinner?" she asked her dads, turning to them when she reached Santana.

Leroy smiled at the two of them. "Of course. We'll let you know when it's ready."

She sent a "thank you" over her shoulder at them as she followed Santana. The taller girl didn't speak to her as they walked upstairs slowly. When they reached the landing, Santana led them over to the guest room she was staying in. She was still silent and Rachel wrung her hands together; the quiet was making her nervous.

She watched Santana close the door behind them and sit on the edge of the bed. She pulled her knees up to her body and moved back on the bed before adjusting some pillows and laying down, her hair fanned out around her head on the pillow and her arms at her sides.

Santana gestured on the bed next to her and Rachel swallowed, pursing her lips before she slid on top of the bed next to Santana. She brought her hands up to rest on her stomach and laid there awkwardly for a few moments. Tension was swirling around them thickly and Rachel could feel it filling up the room.

"You had an audition before we left?" she heard Santana ask softly. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was preoccupied," she whispered, fixing her gaze on to the ceiling.

She felt Santana nod next to her. "By me," the taller girl finished. "What happened?"

"I cracked. On the high note," she muttered. "My voice cracked during the high note and I rushed the triplets during the bridge."

"Rachel Berry missed a high note? I never thought I'd see the day," Santana joked, glancing over at her. Rachel could sense that she was trying to alleviate some of the tension, but all she could respond with was a frown. When she didn't say anything, Santana turned away again.

Rachel bit her lip. "I always had a lot of free time in high school. My lack of social standing meant that I had few friends with which to spend time. I used every spare moment I had to practice," she explained. She took a few deep breaths. "My dads help me out, but I would feel bad for taking too much of their money. Work takes up a significant amount of my spare time."

Santana looked over at her again and Rachel met her gaze. "I take up a lot of spare time, too."

Rachel just shrugged, unsure of what to say. Santana did take up some of her spare time, but she didn't mind it. "I like spending time with you, Santana."

Santana nudged her hip with her hand and tugged on her arm until Rachel gave the girl her hand. "I like spending time with you, too. But you should have said something. I know you need to practice or whatever," Santana told her, lacing their fingers together. "Broadway is important to you and I would never want to distract you from your dream."

Rachel bit her lip. Santana was always a surprise to her, even though she shouldn't have been at this point. Sometimes Rachel forgot who Santana used to be; other times, Santana would say something incredibly sweet or be extremely kind, and Rachel would remember Cheerio Santana, cutting into everyone with vicious words and taking her anger out on her classmates.

"It's proving to be a more difficult dream to accomplish than I had imagined," she admitted.

Santana looked back up at the ceiling and Rachel mimicked her. "Didn't you _just_ graduate?" she asked.

Rachel nodded absently. "While I may have only just graduated NYU this past May, I've been auditioning for roles since I first arrived in New York," she said. "But it's like you said, there are millions of people in New York City. We're all easily replaceable."

Rachel sighed and closed her eyes. She remembered telling Santana that she didn't always know who she was and she knew that even today, she still didn't always know. She had once written a schedule of the some of her more imminent major life events – first New York City stage role (off-Broadway or on Broadway), first lead role in a musical, first Tony, marriage. In her more grandiose moments, most of them occurred by age twenty-five. In her more realistic moments, she would have all of these things by the time she was thirty. She was twenty-three and she hadn't managed to get any part that wasn't in a play at school. She had had two serious relationships and both of them had ended in heartbreak; they had built her up and then ripped into her heart and –

"You're one in a million, though," Santana told her earnestly, stopping her just short of reminiscing. But it was too sweet and Rachel didn't want to hear it.

"Even if that were true, there are nineteen million people living in New York City. Statistically, this would indicate that there are at least eighteen other Rachel Berries living there," she said smartly.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Santana told her. And she was right – Rachel did know what she meant. "There's only one Rachel Berry in this world who likes to belt out high notes in the shower and hum musicals in her sleep, who likes to wake up and watch the musicals she was dreaming about and who sings all the songs better than the people in the movie. There's only one Rachel Berry who's as amazing as you are and she's in this bed right now."

Rachel felt tears burn her eyes. She said nothing in response, could only squeeze Santana's hand. It was quite possibly the sweetest thing she had been told in a long time and she tried to hold on to the moment so that she could remember it and cling to it when she was sad or lonely. This girl with her had once been her enemy, had been the first person to tear into her, and now she was lying in bed right next to Rachel Berry and telling her that she was amazing, holding her hand tightly.

"I'm sorry," the other brunette said after a few minutes. Rachel looked at her curiously and Santana squeezed her hand again. "I haven't been a very good friend. I've just dumped all of this shit on you and – and I just thought that you were doing okay. Like, I figured you would just talk to me if you needed a shoulder," she muttered, shrugging.

"I – I guess I just wanted –" Rachel sputtered.

Santana looked at her again and Rachel could see the expectation written across her features. She had been encouraging Santana to be honest and she knew it would be hypocritical of her to be anything less than honest.

"I needed to be _your_ shoulder," the shorter girl eventually said.

"We should have been each other's shoulders," she heard Santana say softly. "I can be your shoulder just as easily as you can be mine."

Rachel nodded and looked away. Santana's speech was soft and gentle but her gaze was intense and Rachel could feel herself, her physical being, melting underneath it. "Yes, you can be," she whispered.

"Will you let me?" she heard Santana ask.

"Will you let _me_?" Rachel echoed. Santana shifted on the bed and flexed the hand that was holding Rachel's.

"I did," Santana said sadly and Rachel felt guilt creeping into her again – how quickly conversations turned around. "I let you and then you threw me to the wolves."

"I was there with you every step of the way," Rachel responded, gripping the hand in hers tighter. The guilt consumed her then, filled her to the brim. "I was trying to help you."

"I know you were," Santana told her, "but that doesn't mean that you didn't manipulate me. You picked a fight with me just so I would say all that stuff. You think that's how I wanted all that shit to come out?"

"You didn't want _any_ of it to get out," Rachel fired back. "You would have been content to just eat pizza and make small talk until the end of time."

"Well, fuck, Rachel, is that so wrong?" Santana scoffed. She released Rachel's hand, flinging it away in frustration. Rachel was painfully aware of how empty her hand felt as she watched Santana wipe away a few tears. "Is it so wrong for me to want a little peace sometimes? It was _nice_ , okay? It was really fucking nice."

Rachel swallowed a few tears of her own – they were sad tears now, tears of pain that had quickly overtaken her tears of happiness. Santana thought she was amazing, thought that Rachel Berry was special, and Rachel had hurt her. She leaned up on to one elbow and scooted closer to Santana. The taller girl was holding her palms flat against her eyes and she looked pained.

"I'm sorry," Rachel whispered, sure that she had never meant an apology the same way she meant this one. "I'm so sorry that I took that away from you."

"I get it," Santana muttered. "I get that you were trying to help me, Rach –"

Rachel interrupted, "I really was. And at least you finally –"

"Shut up," the other girl told her, not unkindly. She sat up, brushing past Rachel, who had been hovering over her. Rachel slid across the bed to sit beside her.

"Everyone uses me," Santana cried and Rachel felt her heart breaking. "Don't you understand that? All I've ever been to anyone is just a warm body, something pretty to watch for a bit and feel up, something to fuck for a night and then throw away. Don't you –" she paused, her voice trailing off into something just barely above a whisper. "I know it's not the same. You didn't _really_ use me. But you still manipulated me."

"I – I didn't know what else to do," Rachel admitted. She had been so swept up in trying to find a way for Santana to open up that she had neglected to reflect on what it might mean to Santana. Rachel knew, sitting on the bed next to a crying Santana Lopez, that she had been tremendously shortsighted.

Rachel pulled one leg underneath her as she angled her body to face the taller girl. "I am so incredibly sorry for doing that to you, for making you feel that way, Santana. It was never my intention to be so harsh."

She watched the taller girl's shoulders shake as she wrung her hands together in her lap. She shook her head and Rachel could only watch her and wonder if she had damaged them beyond repair; but she remember their conversation just minutes ago and realized that Santana wasn't going anywhere. Rachel just needed to right her wrongs. "I meant what I said in the car on the way home – I'm always going to be there for you."

"You're all I've really got, Rachel," Santana breathed out quickly, her voice a low murmur. "I just," she paused for a long moment. Rachel watched her back rise and fall with each breathe she took, ready to jump in when her breathing became shallower. Santana looked up at her intensely and Rachel was ready to cry again. "You've been amazing, Rachel. But _I_ have to do this."

"Would you have done it, though?" Rachel whispered, shifting closer to her and resting a hand on her back. She used her free hand to take one of Santana's in her grasp, relieved when the other girl didn't pull away.

"I can only try," Santana said quietly. "That's all I can do, Rach. And I need…" she stopped again and Rachel watched her eyes close. She didn't say anything.

"What do you need, Santana? If it is within my capabilities, I guarantee that I will do everything within my power to get it for you," Rachel told her earnestly.

"I just need you," Santana whispered, opening her eyes again finally. She licked her lips and in any other moment it might have distracted Rachel, but all she could see right then were deep brown eyes watched her uncertainly. Vulnerability was swimming in them and Rachel could feel it tugging at both her and Santana, trying to pull them in and drown them. "I need you to stay on my side, not like, wander over to their side and leave me all alone. I won't be able to do anything if you do that to me."

Rachel leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on Santana's cheek and resting her forehead against the other girl's own. "I'm always on your side," she said.

"Then just stay there," Santana responded. Rachel felt her move her head and before she knew what had happened, soft lips had pressed against hers and retreated. "Please just stay there," she told Rachel, her voice cracking.

Rachel nodded as best she could from her position resting against Santana. "I promise," she whispered. And she meant it, most than any promise she had ever made.

She wanted to say more, to apologize a hundred more times, to wrap her arms around Santana and never let go. More than anything she wanted to lean forward and kiss Santana again, to press their lips together until Santana knew exactly how much she cared about her, until she knew that Rachel was planning to be by her side for as long as the other girl would let her.

Rachel heard a light known on the door before it opened and Hiram peeked his head in. Santana pulled away from her, looking away from the door and wiping her face.

"Are you girls hungry? We thought we might order in tonight," he told them, raising an eyebrow at Rachel in question.

She shook her head at his question; she had no more answers for him than she had earlier (at least to anything she knew her fathers would be asking). "What happened to making dinner?"

"Old age has made us too tired to cook," he quipped.

Santana stood up and turned towards him, wiping her palms on her jean shorts. "If it's okay with you, I'd kind of just like to shower and go to bed. It's been a long day."

Hiram nodded at her understandingly. "Rachel?" he asked.

Rachel bit her lip, looking between the two of them. "Bed actually sounds really nice," she concluded, rising to stand next to Santana.

"I'll tell your father, then" Hiram said, moving into the room and giving them each hugs. "Good night, girls."

He left and Rachel and Santana stood uncomfortably together next to the bed. "I'll just," Rachel started nervously, "go use my en suite bathroom to shower and you can use the one in the hallway."

She didn't understand why things were suddenly awkward between them. Her father had interrupted them in a rather intimate moment, but they were friends and friends were allowed to comfort each other. Rachel wondered, as she watched Santana nod at her, why it felt like something more than that.

"Good night, then," she whispered, leaning up and kissing the taller girl on the cheek affectionately. When she started to walk past Santana, she felt a hand grab hers. She turned back and Santana was looking anywhere but at her.

"Will you come back afterwards?" she asked. "We can just, I don't know – you can tell me about auditions or something. Or about school, or…any of the million things you should be able to tell a friend but haven't, okay?"

Rachel couldn't help but smile at her, touched that Santana had meant what she had said. Rachel didn't know if she was quite ready to tell her everything, but it was a start to know that she could. She wrapped her arms around Santana, bringing her close until she reciprocated the embrace.

They held each other for a few moments before Rachel felt Santana pulling away. She could feel Santana's need for a bit of distance, just for a little while. Rachel realized that maybe she could use a bit of distance herself and the idea of a nice long shower grew infinitely more appealing to her.

* * *

When Rachel came back to Santana's room later, feeling cleaner and more refreshed, the other girl was propped up in bed, the comforter pulled up to her chin. She was flipping through channels on the room's medium-sized television, grumbling that the cable service in Lima "sucked hardcore."

When Rachel chuckled, Santana glanced over at her and smiled tightly. She once again gestured for Rachel to get on the bed, and even held up the blanket for her to crawl underneath it. "Have you not managed to find anything suitably trashy and reality-based yet?" Rachel asked, settling a respectable distance away from the other girl.

"No, it's all shitty sitcoms and medical dramas," she responded, continuing to change the channel.

Rachel laughed and grabbed the remote, instantly putting it on MTV. A group of obnoxious teenage girls were onscreen, yelling at each other. One of them grabbed another by the hair and screamed as she dragged her to the ground.

Santana groaned, leaning over and snatching the remote away to turn it up. "You're some kind of magical t.v. elf because this is just what I needed."

To Rachel's surprise, Santana didn't move away from her immediately. Instead, she shifted over until they were right next to each other, looped her arm through Rachel's and leaned against her shoulder. Rachel could still feel some residual tension around them from earlier, but it had lessened now and Santana seemed keen to move past it. Rachel was just as ready to move past it as she was.

"So tell me something, already," she heard Santana say, her eyes still glued to the television screen.

Rachel shifted uncomfortably. "Like what?"

Santana shrugged against her, sliding her hand down Rachel's arm until their palms were flat against each other. "Like anything you want," she sighed. "School, boyfriends, whatever. I am your shoulder."

"I –" Rachel began before clamping her mouth shut. She screwed her eyes shut as memories flooded her mind – her disastrous first New York City audition ever and the subsequent ones that came after it (both good and bad), the first time she didn't get the lead role in a school production, the fierce competition that accompanied musical theater students everywhere they went, tainting friendships and relationships alike; her first college boyfriend – a suave upperclassmen – and the eventual loss of her virginity to him just before he dumped her for a new aspiring music student; her first girlfriend ever, who had used her to get ahead, sabotaged her, and then broken her heart. She remembered her life plan and all the expectations she had once held for her life, how none of them were happening the way she had planned them.

And then she felt an arm moving next to her, a palm sliding against hers until fingers were intertwined with her own, a gentle squeeze to her hand. When Rachel opened her eyes, Santana was looking at her curiously, her brows furrowed and a concerned look on her face. And Rachel looked at her and remembered Santana, everything that _she_ had been through in the past four years, things that Rachel didn't even know and that had only been hinted at in dark, raw, emotional moments.

And Rachel looked at Santana and remembered Santana and realized that maybe they were both a little bit broken, each in their own way.

"Rachel?" Santana whispered, her face close. Rachel could feel her breathe warm across her face. "Are you okay?"

Rachel remembered all the times she had ever had her heart broken. And then Rachel remembered kissing Santana, the soft feel of her lips and the hope that passed between them. She remembered hearing Santana saying that Rachel made her think that everything could be okay. She remembered saying that it would be okay.

"I could be," Rachel murmured gently.

She saw Santana nod, something like understanding passing across her features. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Rachel shook her head. "Not right now, if that's okay with you."

"Okay, Rach, whenever you want to talk, though, I'm totally down. Just so you know," Santana whispered to her.

Rachel leaned down to place a lingering kiss to Santana's forehead. "I know, Santana," she responded. "Thank you."

Santana chuckled. "Thank _you_."

"You're welcome," they said together, settling back into each other and turning back to the t.v. screen.

When Rachel woke up later, the room was dark and a weight was pressing against her. Santana was against her, her head still on Rachel's shoulder and their legs tangled together. Rachel flipped the television off and sank into Santana's embrace. The taller brunette muttered something incomprehensible and Rachel was content to fall back into sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

When Santana woke up, her first realization was that she was warm, almost uncomfortably so. Her second realization was that something soft was underneath her. Her third realization was that the softness beneath her was that of Rachel Berry, who had her arms wrapped around Santana's waist as legs tangled together.

It had been a long time since Santana had shared a bed with someone and woken up in so intimate a position. She was wrapped up in someone completely, someone she genuinely cared about, and she couldn't remember a nicer feeling. It was something like contentment, she decided. She hadn't felt like this since…

Brittany.

Santana glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost eleven a.m. She needed to meet Brittany. A heavy sigh drifted from between her lips. She was so comfortable lying in bed with Rachel that even the thought of getting out of bed and facing the world tired her to the point where she wanted to pull the blanket up under her chin and wrap them both in it. Fuck the rest of the world.

But she had promised Brittany.

Santana tried to extract herself from Rachel's embrace gently so as not to wake her, but as soon as she started moving, the girl she had been sleeping on had begun to wake up. Rachel's hair was mussed and sticking up at odd angles and she was grumbling something Santana couldn't make out. Santana couldn't help but think that she looked utterly adorable; she almost thought that maybe she wouldn't mind waking up to such cuteness daily, but she stopped that train of thought as soon as it started.

She pulled herself out of Rachel's arms and slid down the bed, standing up and wandering over to her suitcase to find some clothes for the day.

"Why are you all the way over there?" she heard sleepily from Rachel. "And why are we awake? I'm still tired, San."

Santana paused. _San._ If it had been a long time since she had woken up contentedly in someone's arms, it had been even longer since she had been called an affectionate nickname. Not since…

"I have to meet Brittany soon," she said softly.

"Do you?" Rachel muttered, turning over on to her stomach. She closed her eyes. "I never heard any formal plans made."

"You were there," Santana told her, slipping out of her shorts and tank top and pulling on some jeans. "We're meeting at the duck pond. It's our place."

"When?" Rachel asked, her voice a barely-there mumble.

Santana chuckled. "We always meet at lunchtime, which is anywhere between eleven and twelve for Brittany. When we were little, we used to meet there before breakfast, but as we got older and I found out how much I love sleep, it got pushed back to lunchtime," she said, sliding on a t-shirt. "We never had to really talk about it. One of us would just say 'duck pond' and the other would know."

"You and Brittany were always kind of adorable," Rachel said, tugging on the pillow Santana had used until she was holding it against her body.

"Britts was adorable. I was always just kind of along for the ride," Santana muttered, sitting down on the bed and sliding her feet into a pair of sandals.

Rachel's grip on the pillow tightened. "No, you were adorable, too," Rachel whispered, still half-asleep. "You're still kind of adorable."

Santana shook her head, reaching out and running her hand across the other brunette's leg, which was still under the blanket. "You're still kind of asleep," she said.

Rachel didn't respond and Santana absentmindedly continued to stroke her leg as she listened to the other girl's breathing even back out. She realized what she was doing and pulled away. She glanced at the clock again, noting the time and cast Rachel one last look over her shoulder as she walked out of the bedroom.

Everything about her morning had been adorable and she hadn't hated it. Quite the opposite, it only managed to fill her with a warmth that was mostly unfamiliar. Rachel had that effect on her, she concluded, stepping out into the hot midday sun.

Santana smiled.

* * *

She knew when she reached the park that she should have been freaking out. She should have been consumed with thoughts of what was to come. But all Santana could think of was Rachel, lying in bed, muttering that she was adorable; Rachel drifting off the night before into what were probably memories of all the shit she'd been through. It made Santana feel selfish, to be so affected by her own past that she'd forgotten that maybe Rachel had some secrets, too. She thought of Rachel kissing her in the car, holding her hand, smiling at her, laughing with her.

When Santana reached the duck pond, Brittany looked up at her from the grass and smiled brightly. Santana realized that she was already smiling, had been for several minutes before she arrived at the park. She had almost forgotten to be nervous.

But there was Brittany, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, a bottle of water in one hand, and every other thought flew out of her head. Brittany was looking at her expectantly, _her_ Brittany, and she took a deep breathe in preparation.

"You're late," Brittany said, spreading her legs out in front of her. The blonde smirked at her. "Just like always."

Santana shook her head, tentatively sitting next to the other girl, leaving a little distance between them. "You're early. Just like always. You were always so impatient to see the ducks," she answered, trying to match Brittany's light tone despite the heaviness settling itself in the pit of her stomach. A memory wiggled itself loose from a corner of her brain. "I didn't bring any bread, sorry," she said.

"That's okay. The ducks looks kind of fat, anyway," Brittany responded.

Santana couldn't help but give her a small smile. It was Brittany, and as much as she didn't want to talk to her, didn't even want to see her, she couldn't help herself. There was just something about the tall blonde girl that was incredibly endearing.

"Speaking of fat, how's Lord Tubbington?" she asked. Small talk seemed like her best bet at that moment. She was stalling again, and they both knew it, but it was all she could bring herself to say.

"He's still smoking," Brittany said airily. "He wanted me to ask you to recommend some cigars for him to try."

"I don't smoke cigars anymore, Britts. They're too bad for you," she responded, idly wondering if she could distract Brittany with small talk long enough for her to leave for some other meeting.

"You don't? I've missed everything," Brittany said sadly.

No, she wasn't going to be able to do that. "Not everything, B. We're not that old. You just missed a little bit," she said gently.

"But they were really big important little bits," Brittany shot back. "I can't believe your parents would do that to you. You always said that they wouldn't like you being gay, but I never thought it would be like that."

Santana shrugged, pulling up a few strands of grass and twisting them between her fingers. She wanted to stand up and leave, throw rocks at the stupid ducks on her way out. But she remembered Rachel again, the Rachel who was always right: she had to have this talk. For closure, or for peace of mind, or for some healing bullshit that sounded ridiculous but seemed to be helping.

"I guess that it shouldn't have surprised me when they did," Santana said, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. "The way my dad looked at me… I had never seen him look that way, not at me or at anyone."

She looked up and saw a frown settle itself on Brittany's features and it made her heart pang. Santana had never been able to handle seeing sadness on Brittany's face – it was unnatural. "How did they find out?" she asked.

It was starting, _the talk._ She could feel its momentum starting to build, spreading out from her chest and into her limbs until it felt like she was going to burst. "They, uh, found a letter that I wrote. It was short, just a couple sentences. I never finished it and I never sent it."

"What did it say?" Brittany wondered, staring at her intently.

If it had been anyone else, she probably would have left long ago, would never have even entertained the conversation. _That's not true_ , she realized, _you would tell Rachel_. She was aware of Brittany's eyes on her, burning her skin, like she knew exactly what Santana was thinking (or maybe that was just her imagination.)

"It was a letter to you, Brittany," she finally said, focusing on the grass that she was still worrying in her hands. "I told you that I loved you and that I was ready to come out. But I wasn't really ready, and I knew that I couldn't send it until I was."

She heard the blonde gasp next to her.

The whole world was quiet around them. She had to say something, had to fill the silence. "That's not – I never sent it because I didn't think you would want me anymore."

"Santana, that's not true! I always wanted you," Brittany cried. "You were my best friend."

"Yeah, but it was never anything more than that, was it?" she responded bitterly, unable to help herself. "You want to know something? My mom blamed you. She said that you were filling my head with ideas and that I should be sent somewhere."

Brittany was crying. She didn't need to look up to know that the blonde girl had tears running down her face. The way her hands were laced together tightly as she wrung them, the tense muscles in her legs as she flexed her toes, the way she shifted closer to Santana subconsciously until their arms were touching told the brunette everything she needed to know.

"Do _you_ blame me?" Brittany asked quietly.

Santana froze. Did she blame Brittany? "I don't know," she muttered. "Not for my parents, I guess. It's not your fault I didn't hide my shit better," she said, and she realized that she meant it.

It had been easy to hold a lot of things against Brittany when Santana lived in New York, when she didn't have to sit next to the girl and feel regret rolling off of both of them in waves. "It's not really your fault that I'm gay, either," Santana told her.

They sat in silence again, each of them with their own thoughts. Santana wasn't panicking, even though she thought she should have been. She should have been running for the hills, screaming and yelling at everything that crossed her path. But she couldn't do any of that. She could only sit next to the girl who had been her best friend and her first _everything_ and let the silence settle over them.

"If you don't blame me, then why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you ever call or text or do anything?" Brittany asked her, cutting through the quiet.

Santana sighed. "I think maybe I blamed you then," she said honestly. "You broke my heart, you know that right?" she asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer. No one knew Brittany Pierce like Santana Lopez, but even she couldn't always be sure what Brittany knew and what she didn't. She remembered trying to tell the blonde that she loved her and having to spell it out for the girl completely.

Brittany shifted again next to her, but she didn't look up. "I didn't mean to break it," she said. "I just didn't know how to put it back together, San. I always loved you."

"As a best friend," Santana added for her, the words prickling her emotions uncomfortably.

"As more," Brittany said quickly. "I was in love with you for a long time, San."

"It wasn't enough, though, B," Santana shot back. There had been mostly calm between them up to that point, but she could feel herself getting worked up – she remembered Brittany promising her that anything was possible and then giving her nothing. She remembered the emptiness and the pain. "That's why I couldn't come to you, okay? I wasn't enough for you and it hurt too much, okay?"

Santana felt Brittany fling her arms around her, pulling her close. The embrace was familiar, too familiar, and she had to close to her eyes to stem the flow of pain inside her. Thinking about loving Brittany was hard, being in the girl's arms was almost unbearable. She wanted to go back to talking about getting kicked out; that was easier than this.

"You were always more than enough for me, San," the blonde told her softly, stroking some of her hair. Santana shuddered in her arms. "But you weren't enough for _you_ , not yet. You were so scared to be yourself, and you needed to learn how to live with you before you could live with me."

"If that's what has to happen before I can be with someone," Santana mused, "then I'm going to be alone forever."

Brittany shook her head. "That's not true, San. I think that maybe you just have a little further to go first."

Thoughts of Rachel rushed into her head. She did have further to go, but Rachel had been there through everything. Rachel had promised to stay there, and she had given Santana little cause to doubt her. But Santana felt raw, her secrets and her pain laid bare for all the world to see.

"What if she gives up?" Santana wondered, only then realizing that she had said it out loud. She felt like a ragdoll, a tattered old plaything that had come apart at the seams and was losing all its stuffing. It was like Rachel was sewing her back together, she thought. _But what if it's too much?_

"Rachel never gives up on anything," Brittany said. Santana remembered how perceptive Brittany always was, how she was able to pick up on things and notice things others might miss. Brittany had a way with people: her positive energy was infectious and she was observant in ways that most people couldn't imagine.

Santana wriggled a bit, squirming in the blonde's arms until she released her. "I'm sorry, Britts," she said finally, nodding a bit to herself. "I'm sorry that I left you without saying goodbye. If anyone deserved more from me, it was always you," she murmured softly, reaching out to push a strand of soft blonde hair behind her ear.

Brittany reached over towards her and Santana expected her to link their pinkies, but the other girl took her whole hand instead. "And I'm sorry that I hurt you so badly that you couldn't come to me when you needed someone."

Santana felt Brittany shift again until a head lay down on her shoulder. It felt nice, to sit in the grass near the duck pond during the middle of summer with Brittany. She wasn't all sewn back together completely, and she knew that her relationship with Brittany would never be the same. But something like resolution was hovering over them, something like "goodbye" and "hello" and "I'll be better this time" all at once.

"Hey, San?"

"Hmm?" she hummed, watching the water in front of them.

"Do narwhals eat unicorns?" Brittany asked.

She turned to look at the other girl. "I don't think so, B. Why do you ask?"

"Well how do they get their horns then?"

* * *

Eventually, Brittany did have to be somewhere. She was meeting her little sister to go shopping, just like old times. She invited Santana, but the brunette had declined. While her conversation with Brittany had been cathartic, she wasn't ready to go running to the mall with her quite yet. Santana decided to duck into a coffee shop near the park and enjoy a nice cold caffeinated beverage instead.

"Santana!" a voice called out just as she went to grab her frappucino.

She groaned as she turned around. She didn't even bother trying to paste a fake smile on her face. "Man, I can't catch a break from you people, can I?"

Quinn grinned. "No, not at all. Not in this small town," she responded, striding up alongside the brunette and pulling her towards a table.

Santana groaned again when she caught sight of who was sitting at Quinn's table. "I keep running into Hummel the most," she told Quinn. "Kurt," she greeted the boy with little enthusiasm.

"Hey, Satan," Mercedes laughed, obviously noticing Santana's discomfort.

"Hi, Santana," Finn said to her, smiling a little bit.

Finn was definitely the odd one out, she decided. She could understand Quinn hanging out with Kurt and Mercedes (Mercedes had taken her in while she was pregnant and she and Kurt always got on well), but Santana had no clue what Finn was doing there with all of them.

"He's my step-brother, remember?" Kurt muttered to her, moving over to allow her to sit between him and Quinn.

Santana nodded absently. She remembered that small fact now, after he had mentioned it. Kurt and Finn had been friends eventually, but they never seemed overly brotherly and it was easy to forget that their parents had gotten married.

"So, Miss Lopez, I have to ask now that I have you here, what is going on between you and Rachel Berry?" Kurt asked, smirking at her.

Santana took a sip of her drink as Finn opened his mouth. "Yeah, I didn't think you guys would ever be friends," he said. "You and Rachel pretty much hated each other."

She shrugged at them. "Hate might be strong word," she muttered. She had been a bitch to Rachel, she knew, but they had had their moments and Santana remembered them fondly. They couldn't compete with the moments she had shared with Rachel since meeting her in New York City, but they were cherished nonetheless.

"Rachel's been a really good friend to me," she told them. "We're not high schoolers anymore."

"Just friends?" Kurt asked, nudging her lightly with his elbow. "You guys seem pretty close."

Santana rolled her eyes, deliberately avoiding Finn's gaze. "Yes, just friends. A lesbian can be friends with a straight girl without it meaning something."

"Yeah, sure, girl. _A_ lesbian can, but we're asking about _you_ ," Mercedes chimed, chuckling a little bit and exchanging gossiping looks with Kurt. Santana knew they were going to spend the rest of the day talking about her, if they weren't planning to already.

"What are you guys talking about?" Finn asked, his features contorting into confusion.

Santana scoffed. "Nothing. The gossip queens here don't know anything about anything," she said quickly as Kurt opened his mouth to say something.

"Okay," Finn drawled, looking at her oddly. Santana refused to let him make her feel awkward and just stared at him. "Rachel's not like that, you know," he said.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Finn raised his shoulders. "Like…you know, into girls," he muttered. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added, looking at Santana. "And not that I'm saying you're like, trying something, or whatever," he continued, reddening a little bit. "I'm just saying for the record, Rachel's totally straight."

"Sure, she is," Quinn muttered under her breathe. She had that look on her face again, the one she had on at the barbecue – like she knew something.

Finn stood up then, grabbing his drink. "I, uh, I have to go…do football stuff," he sputtered. Santana fought hard not to laugh at him.

The others offered their goodbyes while Santana just smirked at him and sent him a little wave as he walked out.

"Now that my step-brother is gone, spill," Kurt laughed, leaning forward expectantly.

Santana tried not to shift or appear uncomfortable, lest she give something away she was unprepared to admit. "There's nothing to spill. I already told you guys, we're friends."

"Friends like you and Brittany?" he asked.

She gaped at him. "No," she growled. "Just regular friends."

Kurt leaned away from her, putting his hands up. "Okay, whatever you say, Santana," he grumbled. He stood up and Mercedes joined him.

"We gotta go meet Kurt's boy Blaine," Mercedes explained. "He's probably already waiting for us."

Santana nodded, relieved that they were leaving.

"Don't be a stranger, Santana," Mercedes told her quietly before walking away, shocking her a bit. It was a rarity for Mercedes to use her full name.

"Say what you will, but the way Rachel acts with you? She doesn't just act like that with just anyone. She doesn't give that winning smile to 'just friends,'" Kurt sing-songed, laughing a bit as Mercedes led him out. Santana rolled her eyes and scoffed at him.

They were finally gone, and now she only had to face Quinn, who moved around the table to sit across from her. They hadn't mentioned anything about the barbecue and Santana was eternally grateful that none of them had tried to ask her anything personal. She was almost pleased with the direction of the conversation, even if it had been on a less than comfortable topic for her.

The truth, she concluded, was complicated. She didn't have an answer about her relationship with Rachel. They were friends, definitely, and Rachel was the only person she really trusted, the only person who was there for her when no one else was. But they had kissed; they had held each other tightly and fallen asleep together. Santana liked spending time with Rachel, just being around her, joking with her or just sitting with her and watching television.

Rachel Berry was kind of awesome and Santana Lopez kind of really liked that about her.

"Kurt's right, you know," Quinn said, interrupting her thoughts.

"What the fuck would you know about it, Fabray?" Santana snapped. She shook her head. "Sorry," she muttered.

Quinn waved her apology away. "I know a lot more than you think," Quinn said.

"Like what?" she asked. "What does that even mean?"

Quinn shrugged, taking a sip of her iced coffee. "Finn has no idea what he's talking about."

It was a vague, cryptic statement, but Santana read its implications clearly. She could have commented on it, asked Quinn everything she knew, interrogated her until there was nothing left that Santana didn't know. She scoffed instead. "Tell me something I don't know. I've had goldfish that were smarter than Finn Hudson."

Quinn giggled at her and Santana smiled in response. Every moment she had shared with Quinn in Lima had reminded her how much the blonde had meant to her and how much she valued their friendship. "Is that all you know?" the brunette asked. "Because if it is, you know a lot less than I gave you credit for."

"I missed you, Santana," Quinn replied earnestly, reaching across the table and taking one of Santana's hands. Santana tried to open her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. "I just wanted you to know that no matter what's happened, I hope that we can be friends again."

Santana shifted, sending her a small smile. "I'd like that," she whispered.

Quinn returned her smile, exhaling heavily before pulling her hand away. "Puck and I are going out to dinner tomorrow night. You and Rachel should come with us," she said, grabbing her drink again.

Santana was relieved that the conversation had drifted back into safer, less emotional territory. "I'll ask her about it," she shrugged noncommittally.

Quinn stood up suddenly, looking at her watch. "I have to get going," she told Santana. "I have to show a house."

Santana stood up with her, walking her to the door. When they got outside, she stood in front of her old friend awkwardly, kicking at the pavement a bit. They were headed in opposite directions down the street, and Santana wasn't quite sure how to say goodbye to her, if they could hug or if she was only meant to shake the other girl's hand.

"I really hope that you guys will come tomorrow," Quinn said softly, watching Santana carefully.

"I said I would ask, didn't I?" Santana muttered, smiling a bit.

She watched the blonde nod before pulling her into a hug, which Santana returned with only a hint of discomfort.

"You said that I should tell you something you don't know," Quinn murmured, her voice low as she whispered into Santana's neck. "From what I've seen, and from what I've heard, you and Rachel are really good for each other –"

"I knew that already," Santana interrupted.

Quinn squeezed her. "But do you see the way she looks at you?" she asked. The blonde pulled away. "And do you know how you look at her?" she continued. "I've known you for most of our lives, Santana, and I've only ever seen you look at one other person the way you look at Rachel."

Santana sputtered. "I don't know what you mean," she said immediately. Her heart was racing and her head was swimming. Her thoughts raced so fast that she was unable to reach out and grab one to hold on to. The safest thing for her to do was to deny everything.

"I just told you," Quinn said, smiling brightly at her. "Now you know," she finished cheekily. She walked away before Santana could properly respond, sending one last wave over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow!"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Santana muttered, throwing Quinn a distracted wave. She spun on her heels and started the walk back to the Berry household.

* * *

She picked up tulips on the way home. Santana didn't know why she had done it; it had been completely on impulse that she had wandered into the flower shop. She felt heavy and unsure, though she couldn't understand why, and the way the yellows and red blended together caught her attention.

The further away from the flower shop Santana got, the more ridiculous she felt. She didn't know why she had even bought the damn things; she didn't even know if Rachel liked tulips. Maybe she was allergic; maybe she hated the way they looked; maybe Rachel's dads didn't allow flowers in their house. And then she wondered why she even cared, why she had even been overcome with the need to buy flowers in the first place.

Santana could barely think. It was mid-afternoon and she already felt drained; her day had been long and there were still hours left to go through. She was already exhausted. She wondered if she would ever get used to living with her own emotions.

Before long, she was back at the Berry's home, standing in front of Rachel, who was sitting on the front porch. Santana was holding an arrangement of flowers in her hands. A light sheen of sweat clung to her and her hands were clammy.

She snapped back to reality. Rachel was looking at her, smiling brightly, practically beaming. "You brought flowers," she exclaimed.

Rachel's smile was contagious and Santana laughed. "Yeah," she said quietly. "They were an impulse buy. But they're for you, or whatever," she finished lamely, holding the flowers out in front of her.

 _What the fuck am I doing?_

"Really?" Rachel exclaimed. "You got me flowers?"

She nodded, realizing that she was blushing a little bit. "Uh, yeah, I did," she admitted. "Take them already," she said, shake the bundle in her hand a little bit.

Rachel was still beaming at her and Santana watched the other girl's cheeks flush pink as she reached out to take the tulips from Santana. She was standing on the bottom step of the porch and it raised her to Santana's eye level. Rachel's eyes were big and dark and Santana felt herself being pulled into them, moving closer until she was standing before the other girl. Rachel reached out to take the flowers and their fingers brushed.

"I must ask why you chose tulips. They are largely regarded as a spring flower," Rachel started, her voice soft. "Not that there's anything wrong with them. They're beautiful."

Santana shrugged again, blinking a bit, trying to focus. "Oh, uh, I don't know," the stuttered. "I was walking back from the coffee shop after I ran into people and Finn was saying some crap and Kurt won't shut up and Quinn said you look at me funny and I was just walking and they looked like looked pretty or whatever…" she trailed off.

Rachel giggled a bit, ducking her head. "You're rambling, San," she told her. "I was going to ask if you know what tulips mean."

"No, I don't," Santana answered simply.

"The yellow ones represent hopeless love. They say, 'there is sunshine in your smile,'" Rachel began, gesturing to the tulips in her hand. "These multi-colored ones say, 'you have beautiful eyes.'"

Santana nodded absently. Rachel was smiling at her delicately, blushing. Her eyes were soft and Santana struggled to remember what she was supposed to be thinking about. The way she looked at her…

"What do the red ones mean?" she whispered, finding herself for a moment.

Rachel took a step back, rising up on to the porch. "Red tulips are a declaration of love," she said quietly.

" _Oh_ ," Santana responded. "I, I didn't… I mean, I just thought they –"

"You just thought they were nice," Rachel supplied. "I got it," she laughed.

Rachel lit up when she laughed, Santana decided. Rachel was eternally bright, even in the face of darkness, and it made Santana ache. She was warm, again – Rachel was sharing her happiness with Santana, letting it fill both of them until there was no room for anything else. Quinn had told her that they were good for each other, and Santana realized then that is was true.

"I think I might get it," she muttered.

"Get what?" Rachel asked, confused.

Santana didn't answer, didn't know if she could speak properly. She took the two steps up on to the porch until she was standing in front of Rachel, who was looking at her shyly, her face a reflection of all of Santana's uncertainty. But there was more there, just under the surface, pushing itself past everything else.

That look, what was it?

Santana didn't know what it was, but she knew what she wanted from the moment she was in. She crossed the porch quickly and pressed her lips against Rachel's. She heard the smaller girl gasp as she put her arms around her waist. Rachel dropped the flowers on the ground and wrapped her arms around Santana's neck, pulling her closer.

There was passion and intensity and they flowed through her veins until she could feel them everywhere. Her fingertips were tracing across Rachel's back and she could feel Rachel's nails digging into her neck slightly. Rachel met her passion as they continued to kiss and Santana forgot what the ground beneath her felt like, forgot that she was hot and sweaty from walking in the July sun, forgot how to stand almost. But she was warm from the inside out and she felt weightless and content.

And maybe, she thought, it was what love felt like.

Rachel was the first to pull away, just slightly. Her lips were swollen and her eyes were hooded. But she was smiling, looking up at Santana with tenderness.

She didn't say anything at first, but she kept Santana close. And all the taller girl could do was stand there, holding her, looking into her eyes. She wondered if her expression matched Rachel's, if Quinn and Kurt were right about everything. She wondered if she had known all along.

Rachel stepped away from her slowly, reaching down to grab the forgotten tulips, shaking her head slowly. She grabbed Santana's hand. "Come on, let's get these in a vase," she murmured. "My dads suggested that we watch a movie. They'll be pleased that you're home to join us."

Santana just nodded and let herself be led into the house. Rachel gestured for Santana to sit in the large armchair as she wandered into the kitchen in search of a vase. Leroy and Hiram engaged her in small talk, which she answered absentmindedly; her thoughts were very clearly elsewhere. She thought she might be losing it again, letting her mind get away from her until she could barely remember where she was and what she was supposed to be doing.

When Rachel walked back into the room, somehow balancing two bowls and three bottles of water, Santana really did forget what she was supposed to be doing. When Rachel sat down next to her, squeezed up against her in the armchair after passing two bottles of water and a bowl of popcorn to her fathers, Santana felt like she was seeing clearly for the first time.

 _This_ was what she was supposed to be doing – sharing a big armchair with Rachel Berry, watching a movie with her family after bringing her flowers and kissing her on the front porch of her childhood home. She put her arm around the smaller girl and pulled her closer.

When Rachel looked up at her halfway through the movie, Santana knew. Or maybe she really had known all along. That look, that beautiful bright look on Rachel's face as she watched her…

It was love, she realized, or something very near to it. And the thought didn't scare Santana as much as it should have because she knew that she looked at Rachel the exact same way.


	17. Chapter 17

That night, Santana again asked Rachel to stay with her and Rachel agreed, feeling a little giddy. They had spent the rest of the day amicably, eating a simple dinner with Rachel's dads after the film and watching a bit of television with them before the two men retired to bed. Santana had looked at her oddly several times as she fixed them bowls of ice cream with fresh fruit for dessert, but nothing came of the looks (she had been nothing but friendly, in fact.)

Santana had brought her flowers, standing before her awkwardly and Rachel thought that no one had ever been quite so adorable. And Santana had kissed her, really kissed her, kissed her intensely on the front porch of the house she grew up in. It had been so much more than the previous kisses they had shared; it was deep and passionate and Rachel had felt every single one of Santana's emotions come through it until all she could do was kiss the other girl until she felt weak in the knees.

It was what Santana did to her sometimes, she concluded – swept all the breath from her lungs and left her a feeling a bit faint.

When they settled into bed for the night, lying on opposite sides of the bed, not touching each other, Rachel couldn't contain herself any longer. It was easy to write off their initial kisses as friendly, as they had been brief pecks on the lips. But what had happened earlier that day was something decidedly more than friendship and Rachel couldn't ignore its implications any longer.

"Santana, I have to ask you something, as it has been bearing down upon me for quite some time and I can no longer continue to function without clarification of said large issue," she began. "While I understand that it may be a sore topic, and it has the potential to yield disastrous results for the both of us, the only way that we can move forward is by discussing it so I hope that you'll refrain from dancing around the subject and at least attempt to talk about this."

She felt Santana shift in bed next to her and was annoyed that they had already turned the lights off. She wanted to be able to look at the other girl, to watch the emotions flicker across her face, so that she could tell what Santana was feeling. Santana always tried to act like she was calm and collected, and maybe sometimes she was, but Rachel could read her better than Santana thought she could. The darkness kept everything from her and Rachel felt like she was moving blindly.

"Damn, Rachel, breathe before you pass out," she heard Santana say. "You better just ask me already before you explode over there." she said.

Rachel nodded, gathering her thoughts. "Right. You're right, of course," she muttered, continuing to nod. Her breathing quickened and she struggled to rein it in, inhaling deeply. She was nervous, uncomfortably so.

"Just spit it out, Rachel," Santana told her good-naturedly.

"What are we doing?" Rachel responded quickly.

"Uh," Santana drawled out. "We're laying in bed."

"You know what I mean," Rachel shot back. "You kissed me."

"You kissed me first," Santana said. Rachel was sorely tempted to turn the lamp on, just so that she could see the look on Santana's face. The darkness they were shrouded in made her uneasy.

"Not like that," Rachel said, her voice dropping in pitch. "I never kissed you like that."

"Do you regret it?" Santana asked her suddenly, and Rachel could hear the edge to her voice.

Rachel reached out her hand, groping blindly for a moment before she found Santana's arm. She slid her hand down until it was linked with Santana's. Her hand was warm and Rachel let the heat travel up her own arm until it slid into her chest, moving across her lungs to her heart.

"I don't regret it," she said earnestly, rolling to face the other girl. All she could see was an outline in the dark, a silhouette just barely illuminated by the streetlights trying to enter through the blinds and curtains. She watched the silhouette turn to face her and wanted more than anything to illuminate the room. If she could only see Santana…

"I don't regret it, either," Rachel heard Santana say.

She felt relief drifting through her, following the trail of warmth still filling up her insides. "So, what does this mean?" Rachel eventually asked. She remembered the last time she had tried to have this conversation with someone, this big relationship defining moment that would change everything no matter what; she remembered the crushing feeling of her heart as it was stepped on and thrown back at her, broken into a million tiny pieces she carried around with her.

Rachel remembered being kissed by Santana, being held by her, spending the rest of the day with her in contentment, and she knew what she wanted the answer to be. She remembered what it felt like to be wanted, and she wanted that head rush to follow her everywhere. _Please._

"It can mean whatever you want it to mean," Santana said vaguely.

"What do _you_ want it to mean?" she asked, holding her breathe.

There was silence and the warmth that had been filling her stopped in its tracks, halting its progress until Rachel's blood ran cold. "Santana?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Santana whispered back at her, squeezing her hand. It did nothing to stem the cold trying to consume her. Santana continued, "Kurt said that you act different around me than you do around other people."

"I don't understand," Rachel responded, but it was almost a lie – she had some idea of what he meant. "How do I act differently?"

Santana shrugged and Rachel sensed it more than she saw it. "Quinn said that you look at me like – well I don't know exactly," she stuttered, "But just the way you look at me and the way I look at you and she said, well fuck, she said a lot of things."

"Okay," Rachel drawled, unsure of what Santana was trying to tell her. She tried not to think of how obvious she had been, realizing as she did so that she was absentmindedly running her fingers across Santana's knuckles. She stopped.

"We're really good for each other," Santana said quickly, the volume of her voice rising.

Rachel smiled softly. "Yeah, we are," she said quietly, trying not to remember the last person who had been _good for her_ and the resulting disaster.

And suddenly Santana was kissing her breathless again and she couldn't remember anyone else in the world, couldn't feel her body running hot and cold, couldn't remember the bitter sting of past rejections and heartbreak. She could only kiss Santana back with everything she had, try to match her emotion. Her eyes slipped closed.

Rachel felt Santana's tongue brush against her lips, asking permission, and she granted it. Their tongues met and she gasped, or maybe Santana gasped or maybe it was both of them (she couldn't say for sure). Their noses bumped in the dark and a hand slid through her hair. She could feel Santana moving in the bed, sliding close to her until their bodies were flush. Their hands were still clasped tightly between them and she could feel them pressing against her stomach.

Santana tasted minty, like toothpaste, and like something else, something uniquely Santana and Rachel wanted more. She pressed on, slipping her tongue into Santana's mouth eagerly. Santana's hand stilled in her hair, gripping it and tugging on it lightly until she had pulled them apart. Rachel whimpered despite herself.

"I don't know what it means," Santana whispered, her voice low.

The smaller girl's eyes opened, but she couldn't find any words to say.

"I just know that I want to kiss you," she heard Santana say. "I just, well shit – I want to kiss you and I want to hold you. I want to fucking cuddle in the big armchair and watch stupid movies with your dads and I want to hold your hand and bring you flowers and make you smile and fuck, I don't know what it means, but I want to keep doing it," she said, her voice breathy and warm across Rachel's face.

Rachel almost cried, or at least she thought she almost cried. But Santana's hand was moving across her face, wiping away salty wetness and she _was_ crying because she wanted all of that, she wanted someone to want all of that with her, wanted Santana to want those things with her. And Santana did want those things with her and it was enough to overwhelm her.

"You really want all that?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"I want you," Santana said, her own voice strong and steady. "I want you to be with me."

Rachel leaned forward and kissed her softly. "Go out with me," she told the taller girl.

Santana nodded immediately and it was enough for Rachel right then to kiss her again before letting them drift to sleep, their foreheads pressed together and Rachel's cheeks still salty and wet.

* * *

They spent the next day acting as normal as possible with each other. Rachel had suggested that they not jump into anything too serious and should just let things flow as they had been and Santana had readily agreed with her. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was the way the light seemed to illuminate everything differently, but Rachel was suddenly worried and she didn't understand why.

There were times when Rachel could feel Santana's eyes burning into her, watching her carefully. When she would turn around and make eye contact, Santana would look away, her cheeks reddening as a small smile played at her lips. It was sweet and Rachel held on to those moments tightly, reminding herself that there was no reason to worry.

After breakfast, they settled into the armchair in the living room together with a bowl of fruit. Rachel had initially been hesitant to join Santana (everything familiar felt new), but the taller girl had grabbed her hand and tugged her down almost into her lap. Rachel has adjusted herself until they were sitting next to each other closely, their bare legs brushing.

"So about this date," Santana started, trying to seem nonchalant. Her cheeks were pink, though, and she was looking anywhere but at Rachel.

The smaller brunette nodded. "Yes, I was thinking that you might consider joining me for dinner tonight. I have already completely an outline of acceptable first date destinations and I have prepared a brief that can be used –"

"Okay," Santana said quickly. "No, wait," she shook her head. Rachel immediately turned to her, her face falling. "Quinn and Puck want to have dinner with us tonight, and I think I told her that we would be there," she explained.

Rachel's eyebrows rose. "Oh," she said. "It sounds like you just ran into everyone."

Santana chuckled, nudging her. "I kind of did. I met Brittany and then I ran into Quinn, Kurt, Mercedes and Finn in the coffee shop afterwards."

"How did that go?" she asked curiously.

Santana adjusted next to her, popping a grape into her mouth. "Everyone had a lot to say about you," she threw out, laughing a bit. "Finn thinks you're completely straight, by the way. He totally still has a thing for you. He gets that dumb puppy look every time he even says your name."

"That reminds me: I'm supposed to have a _friendly_ lunch with him today. He wanted to catch up," she told Santana then, the mention of his name reminding her of her plans. The idea of having lunch with Finn had initially been a pleasant one; she didn't mind having a meal with him and talking about old times (they had so many shared old times after all). But suddenly, the idea of seeing Finn put uncomfortable butterflies in her stomach.

"Mm-hmm," she heard Santana say, sliding away from her just the smallest amount. "You're going to catch up with him…" she trailed off, and Rachel could hear what she was really trying to ask. _Are you going to catch him up on us?_ drifted between them unsaid, but Rachel knew they could both hear it ringing in their ears, bouncing off the insides of their skulls and echoing through their brains.

"There are a lot of things about me that Finn doesn't know and I have no desire to share them with him," she said.

"Like the fact that you are definitely not straight at all? Or like the fact that you and I are together?" Santana responded.

"Are we together?" Rachel shot back immediately, sitting up straighter.

Santana glanced over at her, her eyebrows raised. "Are we not?"

Rachel stuttered for a moment. She stood up and sat down on the couch adjacent to the armchair. "I thought we weren't putting any labels on anything. We were going to take things slow," she said after a moment.

Santana's eyes fell to her lap and she seemed to find her hands very interesting. "Is together too much of a label?" she asked, shrugging. "Because we might as well be. Everyone pretty much says so."

"We technically haven't even had one date yet," Rachel responded, crossing her legs. She shifted, ducking her head down to try and catch Santana's eyes, but the other girl didn't look at her. "You keep talking about all these other people – Quinn, Kurt, Finn. What about you, Santana? What do _you_ think?"

Santana shook her head, refusing to look up. "I told you last night what I want," she started. "That was all me. They like, just helped me realize it."

She glanced at Rachel, looking up at her through her eyelashes and Rachel forgot what they were talking about for a moment. "Helped you realize what, exactly?"

Santana scoffed and Rachel was glad to see her acting more like herself. "I didn't think you were this dense," she deadpanned. When Rachel's expression didn't change, Santana crossed her arms. "Fine. They helped me realize that I could love you, okay? Like, really fucking love you."

"Oh," Rachel said lamely. She felt like her system had been shocked, like someone had hooked her up to a car battery and then started the car, sending electricity pulsing through her body until she was left an empty shell.

Santana Lopez could love her, like really fucking love her.

And Rachel Berry might already be falling in love with Santana Lopez.

She remembered the last time that someone had loved her; she remembered the last time she had loved someone. She remembered that heady, dizzy feeling and then realized that she wasn't remembering it; she was living through it all over again. She had to stand up quickly then, striding across the room towards the hallway and telling Santana that she had to meet Finn soon and would see her in time for dinner with Quinn and Puck.

Rachel watched confusion and dejection cross Santana's face. She couldn't stand to see the fresh pain there, clawing its way across Santana's features and settling there, so she crossed the room to her. She cupped her face and pulled her closer, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "We'll go on our date tomorrow, okay?" she said.

Santana nodded absently and turned away. She didn't watch Rachel leave.

* * *

Rachel met Finn at a little café downtown. It was small and cozy and they had gone on a few dates there. She was early, as always, and he was running a bit late, which was nothing new for him. Rachel ordered a salad for herself and a sandwich for him and settled in to wait patiently, checking her phone for messages.

She didn't hear Finn come in and was only aware of his presence when he dropped a kiss on her cheek from behind. He sat down across from her, grinning broadly.

"Hey, Rach," he greeted her.

"Hello, Finn," she smiled at him. "I took the liberty of ordering for both of us when I realized that you were not going to arrive on time."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was hanging out with Kurt and well, time just got away from me. You know how it is," he said.

Rachel nodded, understanding both that conversations with Kurt had a tendency to stretch on longer than anticipated and that Finn was just generally late for things. "How have you –" she started.

"Rach, I gotta ask," he interrupted her.

"Oh, alright. What can I answer for you, Finn?" she said, casually taking a sip of her water.

"What's up with you and Santana?" he asked immediately.

Rachel choked a bit on her water. What was up with her and Santana was a big question that required an even bigger answer. "I don't know what you mean, Finn," she said after a moment. "Santana and I are friends. I thought that was clear at the barbecue."

"But Santana?" he asked incredulously. "Santana Lopez?"

Rachel nodded. "She's a completely different person now, you have to realize that. She's been through a lot," she told him. He looked doubtful and she sighed. "You appeared to be fine at the barbecue, Finn."

He nodded and she could see his uneasiness. "I was. But like," he ran a hand through his hair, "that was before people started talking."

"Who's been talking? Finn, I have to insist that the nature of my relationship with Santana should not be fodder for the Lima, Ohio gossip mill," she said, offended.

Finn had always let himself get caught up in gossip and what people thought. The fact that he felt the need to intervene in things on her behalf would have pleased her in high school (he never really took up for her then), but in the present, it was mostly just a nuisance. He was trying to fight battles that didn't need fighting; she didn't care what anyone had to say about her and Santana. Rachel idly wondered if working at the school had held him back, made him susceptible to the social pressures of McKinley High School, even though he was no longer a student.

"That's what I'm talking about Rachel," he said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see Santana. She was part of the group and all and I'm glad she's okay," he started, "but you and her keep saying stuff like that, and Kurt won't shut up about how cute you guys are. And then this morning, he tells me that you dated a girl in college," he rambled, his face contorting as he went on. "And that's bull, because you're not like that."

Rachel worried her lip. This was not how she had envisioned lunch with Finn playing out. They didn't talk much after high school, choosing to go their separate ways, but during the summers or her few visits back home, she would usually meet him at least once to spend some time together. It was surprisingly nice to see her high school friends, and Finn had, up to this point, been a part of that. _This_ Finn, though, reminded her of their worst moments together, when he had been jealous or possessive of Rachel when he had no right to be.

"Rachel?" he asked, breaking through her thoughts. She realized that she had been silent for too long. "You're _not_ like that, right?"

"Like what, Finn?" she asked vaguely, fully aware of what he was asking but unwilling to discuss it quite yet.

"Are you gay?" Finn said finally, looking at her pointedly.

"No," Rachel said immediately. Finn looked relieved and she almost didn't want to continue. "I have decided that it is easiest to not put a label on myself and to merely follow my attractions wherever they may lead me."

Finn glanced away from her, confused. She kind of hated that she could still read him so well, could see all the thoughts flying through his brain as he tried to understand everything she was telling him. She kind of hated that she still cared so much. "What does that mean?" he asked.

Rachel sighed and picked at her salad. "It means that Kurt is right. I _have_ been romantically involved with females," she said, "just as I have been romantically involved with males."

He sputtered and the thought crossed her mind that Santana would be amused at the situation. Finn leaned forward. "And you and Santana?"

She took a deep breath, focusing on the stream of oxygen expanding her lungs, pushing at her diaphragm. Despite how things were going to turn out, Rachel Berry was nothing if not honest. She told him, "I suppose that one might say that Santana and I are in the early stages of romantic involvement, although I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself, Finn."

"What?" he cried. "Rachel, we're talking about Santana. She made you miserable for years."

"You made me miserable, too," she responded carefully, leveling a pointed glance at him. "Remember how you broke up with me for kissing Puck and then turned around and convinced Quinn to cheat with you? Or how about when you ruined my prom night by getting in a fight with the boy who was my date?"

He tried to say something and Rachel shook her head, bringing herself back into the present (it was too easy to get lost in memories sometimes). "But that's not the point, Finn. The point is that we're different people than we were then," she said. " _All_ of us, including you and me."

Finn's mouth fell open and he floundered for a moment. All she could think was that Santana would be laughing heartily at him. "It hasn't been that long, Rach," he told her, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "We're not _that_ different."

She pulled her hand away from him carefully, standing up as she did so. "We're different enough, Finn," she said, turning away from him and walking out of the café.

* * *

"That was a quick lunch," was her greeting when she walked into the living room. Santana was sitting on the couch, her legs propped up on the coffee table. "How was it?"

Rachel sighed and dropped down next to her. "It was… a mess," she said. "People have been talking about us, apparently."

Santana shrugged, shifting until she was sitting next to her. "Yeah, I know," she muttered. "I told you they wouldn't shut up about you."

"Apparently, Kurt thinks we're cute," Rachel chuckled, happy that Santana didn't seem to harbor any deeper frustration at her for the way she had left things between them.

"Well, yeah," Santana smirked. "That's because we _are_ pretty damn cute."

Rachel swatted her arm good-naturedly. "Nevertheless, I'm pretty sure that Finn tried to tell me that he and I should get back together. And this was after I informed him that I have been involved with women."

Santana laughed. "You were always way out of Finn's league."

"Maybe, but he was still my first boyfriend," Rachel said.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Finn sucks," she told the other girl.

"At this particular moment, I'm inclined to agree with that assessment," Rachel nodded. "I told him about us, just so you know. It, uh, seemed like a concern earlier and so I took the liberty of addressing it. Well, actually, he brought it up, but I was nothing but honest with him about our relationship," she said, pausing to take a deep breathe. She was about to ramble even further than she already had and she knew it. "I assume that you want –"

Santana poked her in the side suddenly, eliciting a high-pitched squeak from the girl. "Thanks for you know, actually telling him. But you talk too much," she said, leaning back and pulling Rachel with her until they were both nestled into the couch. After a beat, she continued, "Do you want to talk about earlier?"

Rachel looped her arm through Santana's and leaned against her shoulder. "You're asking me to talk after you tell me that I talk too much?"

Santana nodded smugly. "Yup, sure am."

Rachel closed her eyes and took Santana's hand. The moment washed over her and she let it take her. "I could really love you, too," she murmured gently.

Santana didn't say anything to her. Her grip on Rachel's hand tightened and she laid her head on top of the shorter girl's. Rachel could feel her tracing patterns across her palm with her fingertips and it calmed her somehow. She wondered if Santana knew the effect she had on her.

"I was scared," she whispered. "That's the reason I left."

The sweep of Santana's fingers paused for only a moment. "Scared of me?" she asked.

Rachel shook her head. "Scared of everything," she told the other girl. "I let myself get caught up in memories and emotions that have less to do with you and more to do with me."

Santana nudged her lightly. "What's his name?" she questioned, and Rachel could feel the girl shake her head. "Her name?" she said then. "Whatever. Whose ass do I need to kick?"

Rachel laughed and kicked her feet up, laying them on the table next to Santana's. "No one," she said.

"No?" Santana shot back immediately and Rachel frowned at her. "Okay, I won't kick their ass."

"Good."

"Mm-hmm," Santana hummed. "But are you at least going to tell me who broke your heart?"

Rachel sighed deeply, her mind wandering despite her best attempts to stop it. The wounds were too fresh, too new, still lingering in the back of her mind in her darker moments. It had been six months and sometimes she could still feel everything. "Plenty of people have broken my heart."

Santana shrugged. "Okay," she whispered.

Rachel shifted and settled against her, leaning on her heavily. She could hear the disappointment in the taller girl's voice and it made her heart clench. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came and she let the moment pass.

"Did I ever tell you what happened with me and Brittany?" Santana said suddenly. "Like, what really happened?"

Rachel shook her head curiously.

"Our junior year, when Brit was dating Artie, she kind of pressured me to talk about our relationship. I ended up telling her that I loved her and I wanted to be with her and she said that she wouldn't leave Artie for me," Santana said, "even though she loved me and I had been her best friend since we were like, five."

"She and Artie broke up, but I was too scared to come out at that point. She tried to get me to, but the moment had kind of passed, you know? I wasn't ready," she continued. "We ended up stuck in limbo, kinda. We were friends and all, but our senior year was rough on me. She met that new kid and they started dating and she was happy. I tried to be a good friend, but every time I even heard her name, it hurt; _I_ hurt."

Rachel nodded, understanding completely. That kind of deep heart hurt stayed with a person, followed them everywhere and tried to eat them alive. Rachel pushed her hurt down, tried to let it go. People seemed to think she was invincible because she didn't let things bother her, because she was so forgiving. Sometimes though, and she would rarely ever admit it, she forgave people because it was just easier that way. It hurt a lot less to just let bygones be bygones than to linger and dwell on old pain. It wasn't always easier, though.

"Shannon," she whispered, not sure if she had actually said anything or if she was just thinking and her thoughts were too loud. Maybe it was both.

Santana moved and Rachel was half-afraid that she was going to get up, but the other girl only pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "What did she do to you?" she asked quietly, her voice calm and low. It was soothing and Rachel nestled into her side.

"She was my understudy," Rachel said eventually. "It was a mistake; it never should have happened," she told Santana, who merely kept an arm around her shoulder. "She pursued me relentlessly, and I was determined to stay professional. But she was sweet and she made me feel…loved."

She could see Shannon clearly in her mind's eye, all long blonde hair and sharp blue eyes that followed her everywhere. She was incredibly smart and she had a voice that could rival Rachel's, had rivaled hers in fact, for several different roles. This show, though, this was the one that really mattered. It was the final show they would be in as graduating seniors. Shannon and Rachel had competed for this role, and Rachel had ultimately won.

Shannon had been different, though. Instead of her normal anger and reluctance to perform, Shannon had been gracious. She had been kind and sweet and caring and Rachel realized that she had forgotten how nice it felt to have someone want her. Rachel remembered Shannon pursuing her tirelessly until Rachel couldn't take it anymore and had given in, until Rachel had let herself want to be wanted. That feeling, it had captured her and drew her in and held her there. She could still remember how Shannon felt, pressed against her, kissing her, telling her how amazing she was.

And then Santana was squeezing her, kissing her temple and drawing her near and Rachel realized she was crying softly. "What happened?" Santana prompted.

"The day before the show was going to open, we had a horrible fight. I wanted us to define our relationship as something serious and she threw it back in my face. We both said some pretty hurtful things. Shannon pushed me," she explained, her heart constricting. "I woke up in the hospital with a concussion. The show had a short run, just a week, but I had to miss all of it. She never even came to visit me."

"What the fuck?" Santana cried, visibly bristling. Rachel was still crying. She reached out a hand, placing it on the Santana's leg until she calmed.

"She's currently starring in a show off-Broadway," Rachel muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "I won so many more roles in school than she did, and now, I can't get anything. It's just such a horrible cliché that I can't believe I didn't see it coming. Even worse, I let myself get swept up in the romance of it all."

"What was her name again?" Santana asked, her voice a growl. "Shannon? I will track her down and I will end her."

Rachel shook her head, wrapping her arms around the other girl's midsection. She buried her head in the crook of Santana's neck, twisting until they were both comfortable. "No, don't do that. Just, stay with me right now, okay?"

Santana nodded and tightened her arms around Rachel, who sank into her embrace. Rachel could feel the other girl's hands running through her hair, could hear her voice, soft and sweet, whispering in her ear. Santana put a hand under her chin and raised her head up, bringing her into a deep kiss as she brushed away the wetness coating Rachel's cheeks.

Rachel sighed and pulled Santana closer, drinking her in. Santana's hands were soft, careful in their ministrations and Rachel could feel herself calming under the caress.

"I promise that I'll never steal any solos from you, okay?" Santana murmured against her lips.

Rachel laughed and had to pull away, breathless from the previous few minutes.

"On the off-chance that I do," she added with a smirk, "then I promise that I'll bring you flowers while you're laid up."

"Oh, well aren't you sweet?" Rachel responded, letting Santana's fingers continue to trace across her face. The gesture _was_ incredibly sweet and Rachel reveled in it.

Santana didn't say anything, just smiled and kissed her breathless again until Hiram walked into the living room. He cleared his throat and Rachel threw herself away from Santana, tripping over the coffee table in the process. She groaned as she raised her head up. Santana was blushing as she laughed and leaned down to help Rachel stand up. Hiram was smirking as he watched the two of them. Rachel felt like she was in high school all over again, getting caught by her fathers kissing boys (and sometimes, girls).

Rachel couldn't look at her father, but she glared at Santana, who continued to laugh as Rachel pulled her upstairs. She stopped laughing, finally, when Rachel pulled her into the guest room and kissed _her_ breathless.


	18. Chapter 18

Santana adjusted the straps of her dress for what felt like the hundredth time, pulling the left one up a little bit more. She checked her hair again, fixing some stray strands fighting to escape from the loose curls she'd put them in. She was nervous, incredibly so, and she knew she was fidgeting.

She found herself woefully unprepared for dinner. She was going to be spending quality time with two of the only people she had really cared for in high school – Puck and Quinn – and she wasn't sure what was going to happen. The added fact that she was going to be with Rachel, her we're-sort-of-basically-together-girlfriend, with another couple made the night feel like a double date waiting to go wrong.

Santana was well aware that she and Rachel didn't have much more time to spend in Lima. In less than a week, they would be back in New York. It was a breeding ground of uncertainty and she was trying not to think about it. They had left quickly after she was fired and they hadn't talked about what they would do when they got back. Santana was jobless and had few qualifications, a fact that had been easy to forget in Lima, where she spent most of her time running into old frenemies and trying to avoid awkward conversations while stumbling into conversations that were more awkward than the ones she tried to avoid.

There was a knock at the door. "Santana, are you ready? We're going to be late, and while I know that you have no problem with tardiness, I would like to maintain some modicum of punctuality," Rachel called out.

Santana rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself. She opened the door, smirking. "Chill out," she said, taking in the sight of the girl before her. "We have plenty of time."

Rachel was wearing a light pink dress with a faint floral pattern that flowed down to her knees. Her fair was loosely pulled off her face. She was smiling and Santana was reminded of summer, of soft evenings, when the sun has almost set completely. Santana smiled. "You look nice," she said. "Way too nice for Puckerman and Fabray."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop the smile that stretched across her face. "You look nice, too," she murmured, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks.

Santana shrugged nonchalantly. She wore a simple black dress that fell mid-thigh and her hair fell in gentle curls. She had opted for something nice, but casual enough for a simple dinner with two old friends. They stood together for a moment before the taller brunette cleared her throat.

"At the risk of adding further discomfort to this situation, I have to ask: do you feel as awkward as I do right now? Although I suppose if you didn't, I have probably given you reason to now feel as such. Not that there is necessarily anything to feel uncomfortable about. I'm merely commenting on what seems to be a charged situation," Rachel said. She paused to take a deep breathe before her eyes widened and she closed her mouth. "I'm rambling. I apologize. I think I am simply on edge in anticipation of-"

"Oh, my god," Santana laughed, looping her arm through Rachel's and pulling her down the stairs. "If you keep talking like that, this is going to be a long night."

When they were in the car, she took Rachel's hand and kissed her knuckles. "Don't worry so much," she said.

* * *

Santana was right and they arrived at the restaurant with plenty of time to spare. Quinn had suggested a small restaurant that was nice without being stuffy and formal. She had even checked that it had a couple of options for Rachel, a consideration which had thrilled the small brunette.

They opted to have a seat and wait for their former classmates to arrive, asking the hostess for a booth and sliding onto a bench together. Santana ordered a class of wine and Rachel asked for some water and they settled in to wait.

Santana tried not to stare as she sat next to Rachel, but the other girl was too close and too pretty and too sweet and she kept looking back at her with big brown eyes and soft smiles and it was all Santana could do to sit there and pay attention. She was aware of how close they were sitting, crammed next to each other on the small bench, how she didn't even have to reach out in order to touch Rachel. Their legs were pressed against one another's and Rachel's calf kept brushing hers. Her skin was soft against Santana's own and it was almost intoxicating.

Santana, for her part, wasn't sure how to act around Rachel, wasn't sure what the rules were. Where once she could have reached out and taken Rachel's hand or brushed that loose strand of hair out of her face and it didn't have to mean anything, suddenly there was a definition between them and everything felt like it had some deeper meaning, even though really, Rachel's hands were just soft and comforting and that loose strand of hair kept falling across her face and Santana wanted to be able to see her.

 _Fuck it,_ she thought and reached out towards Rachel, who was rambling about something again. Santana pushed her hair gently behind her hair, smiling despite herself and watching Rachel blush and duck her head. She mused that even the little things seemed to have meaning, but it was worth it if she kept getting Rachel to act so shy and embarrassed. And it was such an odd thought, Rachel Berry being shy and embarrassed, and Santana decided that it would be nice to always leave the normally blunt and attention-seeking girl a little off-kilter.

"Have you even heard a word I've said?" Rachel asked.

Santana shook her head, smirking. "Not one," she responded honestly.

Rachel nudged her shoulder. "I was simply inquiring as to whether you had given any thought –" she started.

"Hey, it's my favorite lesbian and my favorite hot Jew," interrupted them and they both turned to see Puck grinning at them.

Quinn rolled her eyes and elbowed him lightly. "Stop that," she admonished, pushing him on to a bench across from Santana and Rachel and sliding in after him. "Hi," she greeted them, smiling. "Sorry we're late. You remember how Puck can be."

Santana nodded. "It's the mohawk. He used to spend like, an hour primping his landing strip every single day."

"Used to?" Quinn laughed. "He still spends an hour fixing it up every day, just to go to the shop and come home covered in oil," she told them.

Puck scoffed. "Whatever, ladies love the 'hawk. It's a fact," he nodded. "It managed to get all three of you."

"To be fair, Noah, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we were more attracted to your bad boy persona, of which your mohawk was only a part, than your choice in hairstyle," Rachel said, taking a sip of her water.

"Definitely," Santana smirked, egging him on. If there were two things that rang true about Puck, she knew, they were that his male ego was still intact and he would defend it at all costs. "And you got all of us, but you couldn't keep us, could you?"

"Whatever," he responded, grinnin. "You might be a lesbian now, but you loved me in high school. All I had to do was text you and you would come running," he shot back.

"Please," she responded. She had engaged him, but his words were unexpected and they stung her. "I needed a warm body and you were easy," she said. It was true, he had been incredibly easy, but then so had she. She continued to smirk at him, but her heart wasn't in it. She felt a hand on her leg, fingers running across the top of her thigh. Rachel smiled at her gently and Santana let it calm her.

Rachel nodded. " _That's_ definitely true. I don't think you're going to win this one, Noah. You should quit while you're ahead," she added good-naturedly.

"Fine," he muttered. "It still got me Quinn, though."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "First, I am not a thing to be gotten; I am a person capable of making my own decisions," she started. "And second, the mohawk had very little to do with my decision to be with you, which you are making me question right now, by the way."

Puck had the good grace to apologize to his girlfriend for his behavior. When Santana made a whip-cracking sound, though, he lacked the grace to refrain from flipping her off. Rachel scolded them both for their childish behavior and Santana laughed heartily, reveling in what it felt like to mess around with people who had once been her friends. Yes, Lima really did manage to make her forget.

* * *

Dinner was a mostly quiet affair after that. They avoided serious topics, settling for idle small talk and general banter. They talked about Rachel's many auditions and offered encouragement. Santana took the hand on her leg in her own and held it tightly while Rachel talked. The smaller brunette showed them nothing but optimism, and maybe she _was_ cautiously optimistic, but Santana wanted to let the aspiring performer know that she was there. Quinn told them about her latest disastrous open house, where the homeowner's teenage son showed up drunk halfway through and vomited in the living room while the prospective buyers watched in horror. Puck talked about his fantasy football league and Quinn teased him for always choosing the worst players. Santana was happy to make fun of him, to laugh with them all and tease them where she could.

"So," Quinn eventually drawled, drawing her fork through her salad. "How are you two?"

Santana quirked an eyebrow at her, which Quinn matched perfectly. It reminded Santana of their high school arguments. A wave of nostalgia crept over her for the days when she and Quinn had verbally sparred like their lives depended on it. "Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but we've been talking about that all night, Fabray," she said. "Or have you not been paying attention?"

Quinn opened her mouth to respond, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, but Puck leaned forward and beat her to it. "No, Lopez, she means what's up with you and Rachel in the two-hot-chicks-getting-it-on kind of way?"

Rachel blushed next to her, and Santana smirked at her for a moment. She caught Rachel's eyes, and her smirk softened before she could stop it and fuck if Rachel Berry didn't send butterflies fluttering through her until the sound of someone swatting at someone else reminded her that other people were in the room.

Quinn shot a pointed glare at Puck after she hit him lightly. Turning her attention to the brunettes, she said, "Not in so many crude words, but yes, I was asking if there's anything more than just friendship going on between you guys."

Santana opened her mouth to immediately tell Quinn and Puck to mind their own business and then deny everything (it was her natural response to personal questions), but a soft squeeze to her hand stopped her. She looked over at the other girl.

Rachel was looking at her carefully, her face gentle and questioning, but Santana could read the anticipation there. The smaller brunette had done her part already – she had told Finn about them of her own volition – and now she was waiting to see if Santana was going to return the gesture.

Santana remembered Brittany suddenly, kind Brittany who had told her that she had to be better, had to learn to live with herself; who had told her that Rachel would never give up. And Rachel hadn't given up on her at all, not once. And Santana was determined that she was going to give back as good as she got. She owed it to the memory of Brittany, of what could have been. Mostly, though, she owed it to Rachel.

She took a deep breathe. "Rachel and I are together," she said, her voice steadier and stronger than she thought it would be. The words felt good coming out of her mouth, and she nodded. "It's new and we're still figuring it out, but yeah, we're a couple."

Couple. They hadn't said that word, either, not specifically. But fuck, it felt good to say, too, and if Quinn and Puck hadn't been sitting there, she might have kept saying it because Rachel was beaming at her, grinning brightly

Quinn swatted Puck again, smiling. "I told you," she laughed. "You owe me fifty bucks."

"No way," he cried, but he was smiling, too. "I mean, I figured you guys had fucked, maybe once when it was late and there was a hot tub or a beach and you were coming home from a long day and maybe –"

"What he means," the blonde interrupted, "is that we're happy for you," she finished, directing her gaze to Santana. She glanced at Rachel next, winking at her. "Both of you," she added.

Puck nodded, still leering a bit, but Santana knew that was just Puck's way. He was sweet guy when he wanted to be, but he was still a horny pervert sometimes. "Yeah, I'm happy for you," he told them. "Don't hurt each other, though, because I like both of you and I don't want to have to kick either of your smoking hot lesbian asses."

"Must you be so crude, Noah?" Rachel asked, rolling her eyes at the boy across from her.

"Yes," he answered immediately. He looked like he was about to say something else, but he stopped suddenly, his gaze shifting to something behind them. His eyebrows furrowed and Quinn followed his line of sight, frowning as she did so.

Santana felt the bottom drop out from underneath her at their shared expression of horror and tried to turn around to see what had caught their attention. She felt Rachel tugging at her arm and she wasn't able to twist in her seat. Her girlfriend, and the newness of getting to call Rachel that struck her for a moment, was pulling on her gently, sliding on the bench until she was so close to her she might have been on top of her.

"Don't freak out," Rachel whispered, her breath hot across Santana's ear and neck.

"What? Why would I freak out?"

"Quinn Fabray, is that you?" she heard from behind her.

Rachel grimaced next to her and Santana's jaw dropped. She really did feel the bottom drop out then, pulling away from her quickly and harshly, yanked away by something that might have been fate, or might have been karma, or might have just been bad luck.

"And Noah Puckerman, too" another voice said.

Santana could have cried.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lopez," Quinn greeted, a stiff smile resting on her face. Puck just nodded.

Santana could see him casting worried glances at her and she could feel Rachel's hand, soft on the inside of her wrist, stroking it with care. Quinn was biting her lip, shifting uncomfortably. Santana screwed her eyes shut, listening to footsteps come closer to her, the sound of her mother's high heels ringing in her ears.

"And is that Rachel Berry with you? Well, isn't this a lovely little glee club reunion?" she heard her mother say kindly. Her voice was as smooth as ever, perfectly practiced and at ease in any social situation, so different from the way it had been _that_ night.

"How is New York treating you, Rachel? Have you hit the Broadway stage yet?" she heard her father ask, his voice light and conversational. He sounded just like he always had, like a generally nice professional man who had worked hard for his lot in life, sacrificing his family in the interim.

They were closer now, right behind her, shifting around the booth in order to see everyone. Rachel didn't answer and Santana could feel her gaze on her, searing her skin. The hand on her wrist stopped moving, choosing instead to grip her own hand tightly. Rachel intertwined their fingers and Santana tried to remember all the moments of calm Rachel had brought her up to this point.

"And who is this?" her mother said and Santana opened her eyes and there they were.

Her parents.

"Oh, my god," someone said. It was her, maybe, or it was her mother – the voices mingled and were the same in her mind.

She hadn't prepared for this moment, hadn't allowed herself to entertain the notion that she would ever see her mother and father again and would need to speak to them. Her eyes darted towards the door, and when she saw her mother do the same thing, she knew they were both unprepared and wondering if it would be appropriate to flee. It was their first reaction to any situation that was going to be awkward or painful. She was so much like her mother in so many ways, she thought, pained.

"Santana," her father breathed out suddenly.

Santana looked up at him, meeting brown eyes that were so much like her own, eyes that had watched her grow up from a tiny infant to a brooding teenager on the edge of adulthood, eyes that had shown with love and tenderness once and then shown with hate as they told her to leave the only home she had ever had.

"Are – are you – when did you get back to Lima? Where –" her mother started, stuttering a little bit and shifting in place.

"I'm just visiting," Santana interrupted. She remembered Leroy telling her that her parents would want to see her, know that she was alive. And now they had seen her and knew she was alive, and that was all she was willing to give them. As far as she was concerned, it was more than they deserved. She had missed them in some ways; on some dark nights, she had wanted her mother and father to be there for her. But they hadn't and she was angry, she realized. She was both hurt and mad at the sight of them.

Her father opened his mouth, about to say something, but Santana shook her head. "Rachel is my girlfriend," she said suddenly, feeling tension thick and smothering settle over her. Rachel's free hand came to rest on her forearm.

"Oh," her mother responded. "So you're still –"

"Gay," she supplied, trying to bite back on other, harsher, words threatening to escape her. She could yell at them, scream until her lungs burst. But she was at dinner, with Quinn and Puck and most importantly, Rachel. So she held back, for one of the few times in her life, and waited for them to make the next move.

But they didn't. Her mother had stuttered more times in a couple of minutes than Santana had heard in her entire life. And her father, well he looked to be in shock at the sight of his daughter. Santana briefly wanted to hug him, because he was still her dad and something about his arms wrapped around her had always been comforting, but she remembered the look on his face that night, the anger and disgust, and she knew, looking at them before her in this restaurant in Lima, Ohio that she didn't need them. Maybe they had changed, maybe they were different people, maybe they missed her and cried about her and mourned her absence in their lives, but she didn't care anymore.

Rachel was still holding her hand tightly, caressing her fingers delicately, and that was enough for Santana.

Quinn was the first one to move, standing up and diplomatically placing herself in between Santana and her parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Lopez," she started, smiling in a way that would have once made Santana smirk at the polite fakeness of it all, "if you'll excuse us, we're just in the middle of dinner and our food is getting cold."

Santana watched her mother nod slowly, gathering her own fake politeness about her. "Of course, dear," she responded. "We won't keep you any more."

Santana's mother led her father out slowly, taking his hand and pulling him along. He said nothing, only watched her over his shoulder with the eyes that Santana shared with him. Santana was surprised to realize that she didn't mind watching them go.

Puck was glaring at her parents' backs as Quinn sat down next to him. "Fuck parents, man," he muttered, "fuck all of them."

Quinn nodded with him and Santana was surprised when Rachel didn't scold him for his language. Her parents, after all, were relatively sane and loving in comparison to all of theirs. She turned to glance at the smaller brunette, and Rachel leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss as soon as they were facing each other, surprising her.

It was quick and over all too soon, but it was just what Santana needed. When she looked across the table, Quinn was smiling at her again and Puck had the decency to be staring at his plate instead of them.

"I'll say this, Santana," Quinn laughed, "you always manage to make a scene."

"I don't make scenes," Santana smirked, letting the familiarity and comfort of her friends wash over her until she could push down thoughts of her parents. "It's not my fault they're attracted to me."

She felt Rachel place her head on her shoulder. "Oh, it's definitely your fault that you're so attractive."

Santana rolled her eyes – it was so terribly cheesy – but was pleased nonetheless that someone, that Rachel, was using terribly cheesy lines on her. Quinn shared a smile with her.

Puck leaned forward. "Tell me more," he said, grinning. "Spare no detail."

Rachel kicked his shin under the table and Santana laughed.

* * *

When they got home that night, the day caught up with her, the monumental nature of what had happened hitting her with full force until she felt like she was laying beneath the rumble of a collapsed building. She almost made herself sleep in the guest room in order to put some space between herself and Rachel. But she couldn't do that anymore, she realized; she needed Rachel Berry like she needed air.

So Santana reluctantly crawled into Rachel's bed, dragging her feet and laying what might as well have been yards away from her girlfriend. But when the tears came, she couldn't help but let herself be held. Rachel was soft and gentle and caring and Santana let her drop feather-like kisses across her cheeks and console her.

Santana remembered the first time she had broken down in front of Rachel, how she had cried and cursed and fought so hard against the other girl. And then here she was, weeks later, laying in bed with her and letting her kiss her and hold her. Maybe that was why she had fought against Rachel for so long, she thought, because she knew Rachel could help her and she wasn't ready for what that meant.

"It's okay," Rachel whispered into her ear. "It's okay, Santana."

"I know," Santana whispered back, still crying, clutching at the cotton fabric of the shirt Rachel had chosen to sleep in. She let Rachel brush the hair out of her face and wipe away her tears and steal her breathe away with sweet kisses until she drifted off to sleep.

When Santana's parents called the Berry house the next day and Leroy asked her if she would take the call, she shook her head. She had nothing to say to them, no words to spew at them in hatred and no tears left for them, because Rachel was dancing across the kitchen and trying to get her to sing along to the song on the radio. When Rachel kissed her temple, whispering in her ear that she was proud of her, she let the smaller brunette drag her along with the rhythm of the song until she forgot everything that wasn't Rachel Berry.


	19. Chapter 19

"Are you ready, Santana?" Rachel called out, knocking on her bedroom door.

Santana checked over herself in the mirror. "I'll be out in a minute," she responded, running her fingers across the top of her pants. If dinner with Quinn and Puck had made her nervous, a date with Rachel had her going utterly mad. She had never really dated in high school, choosing mostly to entangle herself in sexual relationships to avoid her own feelings. She had had few dates in the years after school, choosing to spare herself from emotional attachment.

She took a deep breathe and released it slowly. This was going to happen, she realized, whether she was ready for it or not. Santana opened the door, expecting Rachel to be waiting for her downstairs. "Hey," she said.

Rachel was leaning on the wall next to the door, her arms behind her back. "Hi," Rachel responded, a soft smile settling on her face. "Are you ready?"

Santana nodded, wiping her palms on her dark jeans for a second time. "Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

Rachel smirked, shaking her head. She held out her hand and Santana took it, letting Rachel lead her down the stairs. "It was a surprise when you asked me an hour ago, and it is still a surprise now," Rachel answered.

"You look nice," Santana told her, her gaze running over the smaller girl's form. She had dressed casual – they both had – but Santana thought Rachel looked adorable in her grey shorts and oversized blue blouse.

She heard Hiram call out to them as they got downstairs, telling them to have a good time. Santana smirked and raised an eyebrow when Rachel yelled back that he and Leroy shouldn't wait up.

Rachel smiled at her, dropping a kiss on her cheek as they reached the porch. "Thank you," she said. "You don't look so bad yourself."

"Please," Santana laughed. "I'm fabulous."

Santana was pleasantly surprised when Rachel opened the car door for her and ushered her in. She had been initially nervous to see the other brunette, but being around Rachel, spending any time at all in her company, seemed to calm Santana. Maybe dinner with Quinn and Puck had been a good way for her to release her pre-date jitters, she mused.

Rachel started the car and handed her a strip of square fabric. "Here, put this on."

Santana looked at her incredulously. "Are you kidding? A blindfold?"

Rachel nodded, pulling out of the driveway. "Yes," she started, "when I told that our destination is a surprise, I meant it. If you don't put it on, then you'll know where we're going, and that is unacceptable."

Santana let out a noise of disbelief.

"We have to stick to the plan," Rachel told her.

Santana rolled her eyes and watched as a pout started to settle itself on Rachel's features, her forehead creasing and her bottom lip jutting out. And so she did as she was told, because god, that look on Rachel's face was just too much for her to say no to. "You and your stupid plans," she muttered. "Do you have a plan for everything?"

"While saying that I have a plan for everything would be an overstatement, it wouldn't be wrong for you to say that I do have many plans," she heard Rachel say.

Santana was uncomfortable with the fact that she couldn't see Rachel, shifting in her seat. She wanted to be able to watch her, to trace the smooth contours of her face with her eyes and see all of Rachel's reactions to drivers who annoyed her. "Do you always plan out our time together?" she asked.

"Sometimes," Rachel answered. "I've planned out a great deal of this date, for example. But more often than not, I find myself letting things happen and reacting to them in the moment."

Santana reached out tentatively, grasping at the air to her left. "Give me your hand," she said, waiting until she felt Rachel reach over and interlace their fingers. Santana kissed her knuckles and brought their connected hands to rest on her lap.

"You are quite hard to predict sometimes," Rachel teased. "Quinn was right when she said that you always manage to make a scene."

Santana scoffed. "Whatever, a little spontaneity won't kill you, Rachel."

She felt a pressure on her hand as Rachel gave her a reassuring squeeze. "I didn't say it was unwelcome," she said softly.

Santana just nodded, trying to suppress a smile. "So how long is this drive going to take?"

"Long enough," Rachel answered vaguely.

Santana shrugged and was content to play with the hand she was holding, stroking her fingers over the knuckles. She traced the lines across Rachel's palms with her fingertips. Rachel pulled away with a giggle before she let Santana have her hand again.

"That tickled," Rachel said. "You shouldn't tickle someone when they're driving. It's dangerous."

Santana smirked, claiming Rachel's hand again. She felt lighthearted and at ease around Rachel and the realization of her complete comfort emboldened her. She dropped light kisses across Rachel's knuckles until she reached her index finger. Santana trailed sloppy open-mouthed kisses up the length of Rachel's finger, trailing a path towards the tip. She nipped at the pad of her finger lightly, taking it between her teeth for a moment before she laid an open kiss to it, sucking a bit as she did so.

Rachel pulled her hand away quickly. "Santana," she gasped. "You certainly shouldn't do _that_ while I'm driving."

Santana laughed, picturing the look on Rachel's face. She knew the smaller girl would be blushing furiously and she smiled brightly at the thought. "You liked it," she said.

Rachel cleared her throat. "I made no comment as to the level of my enjoyment, merely that one should not do such things to a person who is driving," she said, a bit shakily. Santana couldn't decide if she was trying not to laugh or just trying to gather herself.

"What about doing them to a person who isn't driving?" Santana husked.

Rachel was silent for a moment. "That would be preferable," she eventually said, her voice low. She refused to give Santana her hand again for the rest of the car ride.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, after a lot of pestering on Santana's part, they arrived at their destination. Rachel wouldn't let her take the blindfold off, however, choosing to lead her carefully out of the car and across terrain that she was unfamiliar with.

"I don't see why I can't take it off now," Santana said, clutching Rachel's arm. "I'm going to fall and break my neck. People die from that."

"Don't exaggerate," Rachel shot back, her hand firm on Santana's lower back. "We're almost there."

Santana could feel the heat from Rachel's palm on her back, warm and reassuring. "When I die of a broken neck, I'm totally coming back to haunt you," she said. "You know that, right?"

The ground underneath her feet grew soft and Santana stumbled at the sudden lack of asphalt under her. She tightened her grip on Rachel, who pulled her closer. After a couple of minutes of very careful walking (and a little bit of swearing on Santana's part), Rachel stopped their progress. She released her grip on Santana, who was displeased at the sudden loss of contact.

Santana felt hands gliding across her hair and the blindfold was pulled off. Her automatic reaction was to blink several times and smooth down her hair. Her eyes adjusted to the low diminishing light of dusk and she looked around.

They were at the lake again, at what looked to be the same table they had spent the afternoon sitting at. She remembered that afternoon fondly – playing around with Rachel and then sitting with her in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company. Rachel had told her later that she had forgiven Santana for her high school transgressions long before Santana had even considered asking for it. And Rachel had promised her that everything would be okay, and Santana had believed her.

Rachel was taking plates and containers out of a picnic basket Santana didn't realize she was carrying, carefully arranging them on the table, and Santana knew that she still believed her. Or maybe, she thought, it wasn't so much that she still believed Rachel, it was that she was really starting to believe it on her own.

Rachel was arranging everything just-so and Santana assumed she had drawn up schematics and blueprints about table settings at some point. She realized that she had been silent for too long when Rachel got everything set up and looked at her expectantly. Rachel was fidgeting, playing with the hem of her skirt as she looked across the table at Santana.

"I hope this is okay," Rachel stuttered. "I am not terribly well-versed in successful first dates, but I thought that since we had such a lovely day out at the lake when we first arrived, that it might be appropriate to spend one of our last evenings here."

Santana smiled at her as she rambled. "That was the first day you kissed me," she said.

Rachel nodded. "Yes," she responded, ducking her head. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I couldn't help myself, really. You were crying, but you just looked so beautiful, and I wanted you to understand that you can be happy and then –"

Santana stepped over to her, trying not to roll her eyes because Rachel was a hopeless romantic and it shown through in most of the things she did. But it was sweet, watching Rachel worry about her actions and try to explain herself. Santana knew that no one else had ever done anything quite so nice for her, that no one had ever even tried to be sweet to her and look after her, that no one else had saved her from herself. Rachel was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, smiling nervously as she rambled, and Santana knew that no one else had ever had a chance.

"It _was_ a really good idea," she said, smiling at Rachel softly and taking her hand. "And this is a good idea, too."

Rachel smiled proudly, releasing the breath she had been holding. "It's not too cheesy?"

Santana shrugged, leaning down to kiss Rachel's cheek. She lingered there for a moment, letting the closeness of Rachel wash over her. "It's sweet," she answered. "Now feed me because I'm starving," she teased.

Rachel laughed and pulled away from her, sliding across the wooden bench to sit in front of her plate. With a smirk, Santana picked up the things that Rachel had laid out for her across the table and slid on to the bench next to Rachel. She dropped her plate and utensils in front of her in no particular order whatsoever.

Rachel just scoffed at her and started handing her food, which she happily took. They settled in to eat, making small talk. Santana teased Rachel about all of her plans, moving around containers and stacking them on top of each other precariously just to annoy her. Rachel fixed every dangerous stack of containers Santana made and paid her back by stealing some of her food. Santana complained about the lack of meat and legitimate dairy products, to which Rachel replied that Santana could start feeding herself. Santana's response was the very mature action of pushing over Rachel's bottled water, which was luckily closed. It was silly and ridiculous, but Santana kind of loved that about spending time with Rachel – they could just as easily tease each other and act immature as they could talk seriously.

"Have you given any thought to what you're going to do when you get back to New York?" Rachel asked her about halfway through their picnic dinner.

Santana shrugged, grasping at her previous feelings of lightness and silliness as tightly as she could. "Not really," she said. "I've been trying not to think about it. Lima's been pretty distracting."

Rachel nodded slowly and Santana could see the wheels turning in her head. "Do you know what you'd like to do?"

Santana shrugged again, thinking about her New York City apartment that had no bed and her New York City job which was nonexistent. They were depressing thoughts and Santana hadn't missed them while she was in Lima. She didn't answer Rachel's question.

She felt Rachel lay a hand on her bare thigh, caressing the soft skin there with great care. "Did you ever get your GED?" Rachel asked delicately.

"No," she said. "I didn't really see the point."

"Why not?"

"Fuck," Santana muttered. She wanted to tease Rachel and dance around the kitchen and eat dinner with old friends and sit quietly in peace near the lake. "I guess I always figured I could just keep taking my clothes off until I ran myself into the ground, ended up with a drug habit or like, became a hooker. That's the next step, right?" she asked mirthlessly.

Rachel squeezed her leg, nudging her with her shoulder. "The next step is whatever you want it to be."

Santana bit her lip, letting Rachel take her hand. She leant her head on Rachel's shoulder, letting the heat and humidity swell around them as the evening sun drifted even further towards the horizon; she let them remind her of warm summers in Lima when she was a little girl, of the sweltering days she had spent with Rachel in Lima; she let them remind her of where she was right then and who she was with. "I don't want it to be _that_ ," she said quietly.

"Then it won't be," Rachel told her.

Rachel seemed content to let the moment pass by, but Santana couldn't help the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, drawing her away from Lima and back to the uncomfortable couch that was her bed in New York City. "It doesn't bother you?" she asked.

"What doesn't bother me?"

"The fact that I'm a high-school dropout who's now an unemployed stripper," she deadpanned, feigning more nonchalance than she felt. The words stung her as she said them. Rachel winced and she assumed she'd stung both of them.

Rachel pushed her plate away from her and Santana watched her nervously. She didn't say anything as she turned towards Santana, straddling the bench they were sitting on. She took Santana's hand, tugging on it until the taller brunette angled her body towards her.

"Does it bother you that I'm just another wannabe Broadway actress working a minimum wage job while her parents help support her?" Rachel asked her.

"What?" Santana said, confused. "No, because that's not what you are. You're Rachel Berry. You were born for Broadway."

Rachel nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "And you're Santana Lopez. You were born to do great things," she said. "You just didn't know it for a long time."

Santana scoffed and tried to pull away, but Rachel's grip on her hand was tight (not that Santana really pulled all that hard anyway.)

"No, listen to me, Santana," Rachel said emphatically. "You and I are meant for great things, and I honestly believe that. You got caught in horrible circumstances and you didn't believe in yourself enough to try and get out of them. And I got caught up in my own self-aggrandizement and I grew frustrated at the first sign of anything other than success," she said, her grip on Santana's hand tight. "You could stick any number of self-deprecating labels on us and the things we've done, but it doesn't change the fact that we're going to be great. We're going to go back to New York and we're going to be better than we've ever been."

Rachel let go of her hand, bringing her hands up and cupping Santana's cheeks. Santana was speechless, so she let Rachel continue to fill the silence. "We're going to be better than we have ever been before and we're going to do it together," Rachel said. "So start dreaming Santana, and get ready for them to come true this time."

Santana leaned forward and kissed Rachel, closing the gap between them, unable to do anything else. Rachel Berry's high school speeches always used to annoy her, but the way Rachel was speaking now, the way she really seemed to believe what she was saying, the way she really believed in the two of them, was inspiring. Rachel believed in both of them, together, and when Rachel ran her tongue against Santana's bottom lip and let her fingers play at the exposed skin between Santana's shirt and shorts, it was easy for Santana to believe in them together, too.

She had always believed in them together, she realized, it was just nice to be reassured, especially when Rachel's methods of reassurance involved inspiring speeches and straddling Santana's legs and kissing her way down Santana's neck while her hands trailed up her sides. And then she didn't know what she was supposed to be thinking about anymore.


	20. Chapter 20

A couple of days after Rachel and Santana's date, they met several of their former classmates at the park for an impromptu get-together. Santana had almost accused Rachel of setting it up, but the fact that there was no planning involved told her that it really had been a spur of the moment occurrence.

Brittany had run into Kurt and Blaine at the park. One text later and Mercedes had joined them. Brittany called Quinn and she brought Puck and her dog with her. Puck sent a message to Rachel telling her and Santana to get their asses to the park (and to bring some beer and wine coolers.) Somehow in all the messaging and phone calls, Tina, Mike, and their daughter Cassie ended up there as well. At least, Santana's pretty sure that's the order things went in. She figured that at any moment, she could expect all the rest of them to show up, too, assuming they were still in town.

Santana was sitting on a blanket with Rachel next to her, the smaller curl leaning into her side and resting a hand on her leg. Quinn, Brittany, and Tina were sitting with them, watching Cassie play with Quinn's dog. It reminded Santana of the barbecue and she had to squash the wave of panic that rushed towards her stomach.

She felt Rachel squeeze her leg. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Santana nodded, smiling when Rachel leaned up to press a kiss to her cheek. She took a swig from her wine cooler, deliberately avoiding the gazes of the people around her.

"Aw, look," Quinn teased, "she's blushing."

Brittany smiled. "I think it's cute," she said. Tina nodded.

"Hey, B," Santana decided to say, opting to change the subject away from her and Rachel. "You know where we are, right?"

Brittany looked around curiously before her face lit up. "Oh my god, I wonder if it's still there," she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and pulling Santana up with her. She tugged on Santana's arm quickly, marching off into the trees. Santana sent an apologetic look to Rachel, who simply laughed and waved them away.

* * *

It wasn't long until they stopped and Brittany released her grip on Santana's arm. They stood in front of a familiar tree together, their arms brushing. It wasn't uncomfortable, though, and it didn't hurt Santana the way being around Brittany once had. They were just two friends standing next to each other and Santana was glad to have something like that in her life.

Brittany stepped forward, running her fingers across the rough bark. "Do you remember when you carved this?" she asked, tracing the letters she found there.

Santana nodded, smiling softly. "Of course I do," she said.

They were twelve and Brittany had just kissed her first boy. She had hated it, huffing that she liked that one time she had kissed Santana way more than she liked kissing Noah Puckerman. She had asked if she could just kiss Santana all the time, because she didn't want to kiss anyone else. Santana had wanted to tell her that yes, of course they could kiss.

But Santana had held her tongue, remembering the church service she had just been to. The priest said that only boys and girls could be together and that it was wrong for two girls to love each other. It hadn't made any sense to her, because she too had kissed Noah Puckerman and hated it. Brittany on the other hand was her best friend and she loved the blonde girl more than anyone and anything else. But her mom had told her that she was supposed to kiss boys, not girls, and that if she liked girls _that way_ , then she would go to hell.

Brittany, taking Santana's silence for dismissal, had started to cry. Santana never answered her question about whether or not they could kiss, but she did promise Brittany that they could be best friends forever and that Brittany didn't have to kiss anyone she didn't want to.

And Brittany had kissed her, suddenly and unexpectedly. It had made Santana smile – how could that be wrong? she wondered – and it had made her heart swell up with happiness. Santana had finished off the afternoon by carving "S & B" inside a heart on the tree they were standing under.

Brittany jostled Santana out of her memories, nudging her with her shoulder. "That was a good day," she said.

Santana smiled, tracing the rough edges of the letters and thinking about how hard it had been to carve letters with so many curves into the tree. "It was," she responded.

"I'm glad you're my friend again, Santana."

"I was always your friend, Brittany," Santana said, letting Brittany link their pinkies together. "No matter what, I was always your friend. And this will always be our spot, okay? When you're in LA making it big and I'm in New York, we'll always have this spot together."

Brittany beamed at her and Santana felt the familiar happiness that came with making Brittany smile. She had spent so much time hurting because of her feelings for Brittany that she hadn't remembered how much joy Brittany had brought into her life. So many years of their friendship had been tainted by heartbreak and betrayal. It was nice to have Brittany back in her life, to remind her of the fact that there had been good times while she was growing up in Lima.

"Maybe I can come visit you and Rachel," Brittany suggested.

"That sounds like fun, B."

"And she makes you happy?" Brittany asked, her face turning serious.

Santana smiled brightly, thinking about the girl waiting back on the blanket for her. Rachel would be eating fruit and fending off sexual questions from Puck, her hair down around her face, falling past her shoulders. She would be smiling, though, laughing with Quinn, and there was a good chance she would end up throwing some of her food at Noah. She thought about the fact that there had been good times during this vacation in Lima and that most of them were because of Rachel Berry. And Santana thought of New York and how she was getting to take the biggest source of joy in her life back home with her.

"Yeah, she makes me happier than I've been in a long time," she finally said.

"Good."

* * *

When Santana and Brittany eventually wandered back towards their friends (and that was such an odd thought for her – calling them her friends), Rachel wasn't doing what she expected. As she had predicted, others made their way to the impromptu park gathering, including Finn. She didn't mind that Trouty Mouth was there with him, but the sight of Finn Hudson sitting next to Rachel in _her_ spot on their blanket was unexpected and truly the last thing she wanted on one of her final days in Lima.

Brittany led her back towards the blanket and Santana exchanged a look with Quinn. The blonde looked apologetic and Santana shrugged. "Hey," Brittany said for them.

Finn, who had been talking to Rachel, turned around to look at them. When he caught sight of Santana, he immediately turned back around and didn't move. Santana rolled her eyes because just leave it to Finn Hudson to come in and mess up her good mood.

Rachel turned around, too, smiling up at her as she moved away from Finn. Before he could realize what was happening, Santana squeezed into the space left between her girlfriend and the former football player. "Thank goodness you're here," Rachel whispered to her. "He hasn't shut up since he got here."

"You're one to talk about not shutting up," Santana smirked.

Rachel swatted at her and the two laughed. Santana decided right then that Finn Hudson didn't matter and she wasn't going to let him ruin her day, not when Rachel looked so cute in her NYU t-shirt and denim shorts while she smiled at Santana and brought her hand to rest on top of the taller girl's own. Finn could stare at them all he wanted to.

"So, Santana," Kurt drawled, a calculating smile on his face. "Not that any of us are surprised by the development, but Rachel was just telling us that you two went on your first official date a couple of days ago."

"Uh, yeah, technically," she answered. "We went out with Quinn and Puck before that, though."

"Where did you guys go?" Tina asked warmly. Santana liked Tina, she always had. Tina was nice and she had never gotten in Santana's way. Writing an original song with her had been a tremendous amount of fun, not that she'd admitted it at the time.

"None of your business," Santana laughed, smiling so that Tina knew there was no ill will behind her sentiment.

"Suffice to say that I am rather excellent at planning and coordinating dates," Rachel interjected. "I managed to surprise Santana and I think I speak for both of us when I say that it was a lovely surprise at that."

Several people groaned and Santana laughed fully. "She totally did have a plan, you guys," she said. "There was a blindfold and everything."

"Sounds like a kinky first date, Lopez," Mercedes teased.

Santana watched Rachel redden and it made her laugh even more. "You wish, Jones. A lady doesn't blindfold and tell."

Rachel, still blushing, turned to glare at her. Well, she tried to glare, but she couldn't help but smile. She popped a piece of fruit in her mouth but it did little to stop the look of humor on her face. Santana grinned back at her, stealing a piece of fruit for herself.

"Go on," Puck said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees.

Rachel chucked a piece of fruit at him and the group continued with their conversations. Santana put her arm around Rachel's waist and kissed her temple. "It was the best date I've ever been on," she whispered in her ear.

"You're right, Brittany," she heard Quinn say. "It _is_ really cute."

When Santana looked over, Quinn was smirking in Finn's direction. He remained relatively quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

"I can't believe that you have to leave," Quinn said. "Can't you just stay in Lima? It's definitely been more exciting since you arrived back in town."

Santana shook her head, glancing at the departure board sadly. "If I'm a town's main source of entertainment then that means I definitely have to leave," she quipped.

Quinn pulled her into yet another hug, holding her tightly. "You had better call, Santana. You promised that you would and I'm going to hold you to that. I expect weekly updates," she smirked, letting Santana go before giving Rachel a hug.

"Between you and B, I'm not going to have time to do anything else," Santana muttered.

Quinn laughed. "You're going to love it."

Santana tried to hold a frown but it wouldn't stick and she ended up smiling along with the blonde. "Yeah, whatever, Fabray, don't get all needy and dependent," she said.

But she knew Quinn was right – she was going to maybe like having some of her old glee friends in her life. She had promised that she would stay in contact with Quinn (and Puck by association) and Brittany, and she knew that she would hear all about Kurt from Rachel. She might have staggered contact, if any, with some of the others, but she had exchanged numbers with almost all of them and she had quickly learned that they were all still connected in some way; even if they didn't directly talk, they all still knew what was happening in everyone else's life (which was nothing new, she thought to herself, considering that they were all a bunch of nosy gossips.)

Santana briefly wondered about Finn, if they would all tell him what was happening in their lives. She also wondered if he would ever come around to the idea of her and Rachel. But she dismissed that thought, thinking about their day at the park – she didn't really care what Finn thought. If he didn't come around to her and Rachel, then it was his problem.

As Santana was hugging Puck and promising to let him know if she needed anything, she thought about when she arrived in Lima, bitter and anxious. But then there she was leaving Lima and she was actually going to miss it. She was going to miss the people, mostly – her friends.

Rachel took her hand and they started over towards the security checkpoint, waving at Quinn and Puck as they did so. As they stood in the long line together, watching its slow progress, a thought occurred to her.

"Hey, Rach, you remember the glee barbecue?"

"Of course I remember," Rachel said. "It was definitely one of the more memorable ones we've ever had."

Santana rolled her eyes playfully. "You were talking to Brittany for a while," Santana reminded her. "What were you guys saying?"

"Brittany was upset, for what I assume are obvious reasons," the smaller brunette said. "Mostly, we just talked about you."

Santana slipped off her shoes and emptied her pockets into a plastic bin. "I figured that much."

Rachel copied her, putting her carry-on luggage on to the metal table in front of her. "I told her that you had been through a lot and that while she was upset, she needed to give you some space before you could talk to her. She was hurt, and so I spent much of my time trying to calm her. And then we talked about –" she paused.

Rachel slid her belongings across the table on to the conveyor belt. Santana waited for her to continue, but she didn't. "And then you talked about what?"

The security guard waved Rachel through and she smiled at Santana. "I asked Brittany if it would disturb her to know that I love you. And she said that that was all you ever really wanted," she threw over her shoulder.

"Wait," Santana sputtered, the blood rushing to her head and painting her cheeks pink. Rachel was already slipping her shoes on and grabbing her bag and the security guard was waving Santana through and all she could hear was that word, that one word – not "loved," not "could love," not "might love." Just _love._

Santana stepped through the metal detector and grabbed her belongings, following after Rachel quickly. The smaller brunette was several feet in front of her and Santana sped up, grabbing Rachel's elbow and spinning her around. "What did you just say?"

Rachel smiled. "Brittany said that what you wanted was for someone to love you," she said. "And I said that I do."

Santana's heart beat furiously against her chest and her entire body tingled, her nerve endings sensitive and hyperaware of everything around her – the throng of pulsing travelers brushing past them and the sound of businessmen on their cell phones. She remembered feeling like this another time, feeling the same kind of heady distracting rhythm of her heartbeat and the pressure building inside her. It had led to a panic attack then.

But this time, it filled her with happiness.

Mistaking her silence, Rachel continued. "I know that we've only been on one official date, but I feel like we've been dancing around the idea of us for –"

Santana smiled and interrupted her with a kiss, and she didn't care if anyone was watching. Finn would disapprove, and maybe some of the people in the terminal would agree with him, but it didn't matter to Santana because Rachel was smiling against her lips and kissing her back with everything she had and well, anyone who had a problem with the best thing to ever happen to her could keep their mouth shut and deal with it.


	21. Chapter 21

New York City was a rude wake up call for Santana. Lima had been simple, relatively speaking. Her old hometown held a lot of bad memories for her, but it held good times, too, and after a few missteps and a little frustration, it ultimately came through for her. She felt like maybe she could remember who she was.

When she stepped back into her apartment in New York, Santana remembered who else she was – the girl who had given up on every dream she had. And now she was back in the place that had stolen them from her and she could feel them slipping through her fingers again. Just being there made her chest start to tighten and her breathing quicken.

Santana was alone, and she was finding that it didn't help the dread and self-loathing that were creeping through her veins like they naturally belonged there. She and Rachel had shared a cab and Rachel had dropped her and her suitcase off before going back to her own apartment to unpack. They had parted with a kiss and a smile, and it was kind of cheesy, but Santana figured that she would take silly and sappy over anything else her life could and had been.

No, she thought, New York didn't steal her dreams. She threw them away, tossed them aside when everything went wrong. Everything didn't get better, though – it only got worse – and now here she was, with the clothes in her luggage and very little money in the bank (Rachel had already bought her ticket to Lima long before she agreed to go and most of the food she had eaten in Lima had belonged to the Berrys). She had no job and no prospects. She was starting to remember why and how she ended up where she did.

It was almost tempting, _almost_ , to call her old boss and see if he was interested in taking her back. He probably wouldn't be, but maybe if she asked the right way, he would think about it. But she shook those thoughts away. She had Rachel now, and Rachel would never let her do that to herself; _she_ wouldn't let her do that to herself. She didn't want hers to become another tragic stripper story.

Santana sighed, glaring at her suitcase like maybe it would unpack itself. She had just convinced herself to grab the handle and head back towards the bedroom, which was still without a bed, when there was a knock at her door.

"Great," she muttered, storming over to it, "I can't even be here an hour and that pervert next door is already coming over to hit on me."

When Santana swung the door open, though, she was surprised to see Rachel there.

"Can I come in?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah, of course," Santana answered, shrugging her shoulders and stepping aside to let Rachel enter. She closed the door behind the girl and followed her as she went into the living room. "What – what are you doing here?"

"Are you not happy to see me?" Rachel grinned.

Santana rolled her eyes and dropped on the couch next to the other brunette. "It's not that," she said, nudging Rachel casually with her elbow. "I'm just surprised. I wasn't really expecting you."

"Well," Rachel started, "I got back to my apartment and I was unpacking. I managed to put my clothes away, but the whole time I kept thinking about you over here in _this_ apartment and well, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Santana nudged her again. "You just wanted to see me again, admit it," she teased. "You couldn't even stay away from me for a couple of hours."

Rachel just shook her head at her, but the hint of a smile was on her face. Santana dreaded everything that was coming; all of the things she needed to do in order to get her life together. But if Rachel kept looking at her like that, she was going to forget why she was supposed to be worrying.

Santana reached out to take Rachel's hand, threading their fingers together. "Rach?"

Rachel cleared her throat. "I know that you've been nervous about coming back to New York City and I thought of something that might help you, if you agree to it."

"Come out with it already," the taller brunette said good-naturedly.

"Move in with me," Rachel said quickly.

If Santana had been drinking something, she would have spit it out. "What?" she cried.

"I mean, don't move in with me in a romantic way," Rachel blushed, shaking her head and Santana's hand all at once. "I really like you, but I wouldn't say we're ready for that."

All Santana could respond with was a strangled noise from the back of her throat.

The shorter girl squeezed her hand. "What I'm trying to say is that you can sleep on my couch," she said, speaking quickly. "You don't have a job yet, and that's partially my fault – not that I regret my actions – and I hate to think of you here in this place by yourself. You can stay on the couch and I'll make you vegan food while we figure out what to do next."

"Sounds like you've got it all planned out," Santana said, smiling despite herself. "Your vegan food is okay."

Rachel looked proud at the sentiment and Santana rolled her eyes at the girl. "Would there happen to be a 'yes' in there?" the shorter girl asked.

Santana shook her head, holding tightly to Rachel's hand as her face fell. "Don't get me wrong, it's a nice idea," she told Rachel kindly. "But I should stay here."

"But you don't have to," Rachel interrupted.

"I do have to, Rachel," she responded adamantly. "I need to do some things on my own, remember? I don't need your charity, I just need you to like, support me and stuff. That's what girlfriends do, right?" she asked, and she was seriously checking a little bit to make sure. Santana never would have thought that she would be dating Rachel, but if she was going to, she was going to do it right.

"It's not charity," Rachel shot back.

Santana shrugged. "It is a little bit."

"It's me trying to 'support you and stuff,'" Rachel said, smirking a bit as she used Santana's own words.

Santana wouldn't tell her, but she kind of loved when Rachel smirked or looked otherwise mischievous. It made her wish they had been friends in high school because she could see them doing all kinds of damage together. She wouldn't have minded helping Rachel take out her competition, if only for the challenge and the thrill of scheming.

"You're sweet," she said eventually, and the words sounded saccharine even to her. "But I'd rather just have your moral support, okay?"

Rachel's smirk slipped and Santana countered it by kissing Rachel softly on the cheek. Rachel had turned her into some kind of sap, but she was coming to accept that maybe that wasn't so bad. "You've always had my moral support," she smaller girl said, leaning into her a bit. "Even when you didn't want it."

"Even that first night when you stormed off?" Santana smirked, letting her arm wrap around Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel nodded, moving closer to her. "You can be quite infuriating when you want to be," she responded. "And I found you again, didn't I?"

Santana smiled. "You definitely did."

The girl in her arms twisted around until she could wrap her arms around Santana's waist. She laid her head on her chest and played with the seam in Santana's shirt. They sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Santana was perfectly content to cuddle with Rachel. It made even her uncomfortable couch more bearable.

"Just know that if you ever want to stay somewhere else or just get away for a night, my couch is always open," she heard Rachel say.

"Your couch?" Santana asked, waiting until Rachel nodded to speak again. "What about your bed? Is that open?" she quipped.

Santana could practically feel Rachel's eyes roll in her head. "Perhaps," she said quietly. The taller girl's eyebrows shot up and Rachel quickly swatted her stomach. "Eventually," she finished, leveling a firm gaze up at her.

Santana smirked, tilting her head. "I can work with _eventually,_ " she smiled, winking at the other girl.

Rachel shook her head, but she was smiling as she settled back down against Santana, who dropped her chin down to rest atop Rachel's head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breathe, holding in the oxygen that filled her lungs until it burned slightly. She exhaled and felt Rachel squeeze her midsection.

"Are you okay?" she heard.

It felt like the hundredth time she had asked been asked that question by Rachel, and perhaps it was. And when Santana gave her a simple 'yes,' she realized that her answer had never ever been truer. If Lima had come through for her back in Ohio, Rachel Berry was coming through for her in New York City.

Santana didn't realize that she had fallen asleep holding on to Rachel until she felt someone tugging on her, forcing her to lie down on the couch. She felt arms wrap around her and someone snuggle up against her side. Maybe Rachel's couch was open for her, but her couch was just as open for Rachel.


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I don't even know what to say right now. I never thought that I would even come back and write any fanfiction. Before this, the only things I had been writing were research papers. And I had no idea when I got the idea for this fic, that it would turn into what it did. I've had so much fun working on this and getting to talk to some of you about two of my favorite characters. Also, I apologize if this is terrible sappy, but life has taught me that amidst great angst, there can be great healing and love.

"Are you ready?" Santana heard from behind her.

Quinn was standing in the doorway, smoothing down the front of her dress as she watched the brunette. Santana smiled at her and nodded, giving herself a final once-over in the mirror. She slipped her earrings in and applied a coat of lip gloss.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'll never understand your obsession with lip gloss," the blonde said.

"No, you and your thin lips wouldn't," Santana smirked.

"We're going to be late if you don't hurry up," she told Santana, smiling playfully.

Santana took another deep breathe and nodded at herself in the mirror. "Okay, let's do this."

"God, I think you're as nervous as she is," Quinn teased.

"This is her dream, Q," Santana said simply. "I just want everything to work out."

Quinn nudged her as they left the apartment. "You're going soft, Lopez," she grinned. "It's a good look for you."

"Whatever, Fabray."

* * *

The theater was completely full by the time the show started, and Santana was pretty sure it was the biggest place Rachel had ever sung in. Santana was desperately trying not to grin and tell everyone that the leading lady was her girlfriend of six years. Next to her, Quinn, who had flown to New York for the opening of Rachel's first official on-Broadway show, was also beaming and looked just as pleased as she did.

And Rachel absolutely killed it during the show. She looked completely in her element, dancing her way across the stage while she sang her heart out. It hadn't been easy for her to make it to Broadway, but she had fought her way there tooth-and-nail. Her first stage role had been so off-Broadway that Santana was pretty sure that it didn't even quality as _anything_ -Broadway. It had been a good first step, though.

If Rachel Berry had been preparing for Broadway her entire life, Santana Lopez had spent the last six years preparing _herself_ for Rachel's Broadway life. Mostly, this entailed helping Rachel learn lines and putting up with her long work hours. A couple times, it involved Santana paying "friendly" visits to Rachel's rivals, who would eventually bow out of consideration or get really sick (but Rachel didn't ever need to know that.) She knew that Rachel could get her roles on her own merits, but sometimes Santana just liked scheming and taking horrible girls down a couple of well-deserved pegs.

When the final notes were sung and the audience was on its feet cheering, Santana actually did tell everyone she saw that Rachel Berry was her girlfriend. And maybe it was overkill for her to be telling the old man and woman sitting in front of her and Quinn all about Rachel, but she was really proud to say that she lived with the leading lady. And maybe she took flowers to Rachel backstage (tulips, because that was just their thing) and squeezed the other woman until she complained that she couldn't breathe, but sometimes, Santana was _that_ kind of girlfriend and they had _that_ kind of stupid overly-sweet and loving relationship that would have made her scoff and roll her eyes in high school.

She heard Quinn huff behind her. "Okay, lovebirds," she said. "If you two could separate for a minute, we could go on to the after-party."

Santana pulled away from Rachel, but kept an arm around her as she turned to face Quinn. "Someone's eager to get drunk," she smirked.

"No, _someone_ just isn't eager to stand here and wait for you two to go from hugging to naked on the floor, because we all know that only takes about two minutes," Quinn shot back. "And I love both of you – really I do – but I don't want to see that _again._ "

"Whatever," Santana rolled her eyes. "She's just jealous that Puck couldn't come and that means she's not getting any," she said to Rachel.

"Santana!" Rachel said. "I really did not want to think about Quinn and Puck engaging in sexual activities. No offense," she added to Quinn.

"None taken," the blonde replied.

Santana laughed before using the arm she had around Rachel's shoulders to pull her closer. She ducked down and brushed her lips to Rachel's ear. "Instead of thinking about them, just think about all the things I'm going to do to you later," she whispered hotly.

She could see that Rachel was trying not to smirk, but it wasn't working and the shorter brunette ended up grinning. "Hey, Q, could you give us a minute?" Santana asked the blonde.

Quinn narrowed her eyes at the pair. "Why?"

"Because I want to talk to Rachel, obviously," she responded, leveling a half-hearted glare at her friend.

Quinn backed away towards the door, continuing to eye them with suspicion. "Two minutes," she said. "If you're not out in two minutes, I'm assuming the worst and leaving you here."

Santana's response was to politely push Quinn out the door and close it behind her, turning around to lean back against it. Rachel was watching her with interest, a smile settled firmly on her face.

"You wanted to speak to me about something?" she asked.

Santana nodded, beckoning Rachel over to her. When the smaller woman reached her, she grabbed one of her hands, swinging it lightly between them. "Yeah," she started, clearing her throat. She glanced around Rachel's dressing room. There were pictures stuck to the mirror and in frames on the top of her vanity. There were some of her dads, and a couple that had Quinn and Puck in them. There was a photo from the most recent glee barbecue they had managed to make it to, this one definitely more full of children than any other get-together had been. The constant, she noticed, was that she and Rachel were together in all of them.

"I'm really proud of you," Santana said. "If you don't get that freaking Tony for this, then I don't even know what I'll do, but it will not be pretty."

"And I managed to get this role without you trying to take out my competition," Rachel teased, smiling up at Santana as she leaned against her.

"Shit," Santana laughed. "You knew?"

"You didn't think that it would get back around to me that my girlfriend was threatening other performers?"

Santana couldn't help but grin at her widely. Rachel, however, looked only slightly amused. "I was just trying to help," she tried. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," Rachel said.

Santana shook her head. "I'm really not."

Rachel laced their fingers together. "Just try to keep your schemes to yourself from now on," she said, giggling a bit.

"We'll see," she replied casually, laughing with the other woman. "I can't make any promises."

Rachel raised an eyebrow at her and they both knew from the look on her face that Santana _was_ going to keep her schemes to herself, at least in practice. That didn't mean that they couldn't talk about them, though, and Santana had more than enough ideas to entertain them on lazy Wednesday afternoons spent lying in bed whispering to each other.

Quinn knocked on the door. "Time's up. I'm leaving," she said loudly.

Santana rolled her eyes, pulling herself off of the door. "I mean it, though, Rach," she smiled. "I've never been proud of you than I was tonight."

"Thank you," Rachel said. Santana watched a faint pink settle across Rachel's cheeks and it distracted her for a moment. And maybe she kind of loved that Rachel still left her insides feeling like mush sometimes.

"I love you," she said simply.

Rachel pulled her into a hug, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist. "I love you, too," she sighed.

There was a loud banging on the door. "Can't you keep in your pants for one evening, Lopez?" Quinn yelled. "I'm seriously going to walk out right now."

Santana swung the door open, pulling a still smiling Rachel out behind her and marching towards the exit. "Well, come on, Fabray," she threw over her shoulder at a startled Quinn. "We're not waiting for you."

* * *

Rachel was whisked away from Quinn and Santana almost as soon as they arrived at the after-party, which was already in full swing. She sent them an apologetic look, but Santana waved her away, glad that the other woman had suggested that they invite Quinn along so that she would have something to do. For Santana and Quinn, "something to do" meant taking advantage of the open bar and making fun of some of the outfits people had on.

Every so often, Santana's eyes would find Rachel, who looked a million times better in her simple navy dress than most of the other partygoers looked in their overly complicated ensembles. She was radiant as she was dragged across the room by her agent, meeting producers, directors, and other important people whose positions Santana didn't care to learn.

"You got really lucky, you know," Quinn said, following Santana's gaze over to Rachel.

Santana nodded absently, still watching her girlfriend move about the room effortlessly.

Quinn took a few sips from her cocktail. "I don't even want to imagine what would have happened if Puck hadn't sent Rachel to find you," she told her friend. "And not just to you, but to all of us."

"Yeah, I try not to think about that, either," Santana sighed, turning back to face the woman sitting next to her. "Fuck, Q, I don't even – I don't even want to think about it," she said. And it was true – she really didn't want to think about the path she might have followed if Rachel hadn't shown up when she did. Santana didn't even want to think about her life without Rachel in it at all, without Saturday morning vegan pancakes and Tuesday night reality television marathons; without mornings spent in bed and afternoons spent in the park or at the coffee shop where Rachel used to work. She felt a lump building in her throat and she had to swallow it and she released a strangled laugh. "God, just look what she does to me."

Quinn smiled softly. "She makes you human."

"No, she makes me fucking emotional," Santana responded.

"That's called being human," Quinn chuckled.

Santana shook her head, clearing her throat and rolling her eyes. She knew that her friend was right, though; that Rachel made her more human somehow. "Sometimes, I really don't think I deserve her," she said honestly.

"Don't you dare tell her that," Quinn told her, "because I can already hear the epic twelve-page speech she'll give you about how wrong you are for thinking that."

"Who are we not telling things to?" Rachel asked, dropping into an empty seat beside Santana. "I'm so sorry I haven't been able to spend more time with you both. I think my agent won't stop until I've met everyone here. I think the only person he hasn't introduced me to is the bartender."

Santana dropped a kiss to her cheek. "I'm sure you'll get around to it," she said.

"I think I'm looking forward to that meeting more than any other," Rachel laughed, picking up Santana's drink and taking a couple of sips. "Now, what were we talking about before I interrupted?"

"Nothing," Santana answered quickly.

Quinn shot her a look and Santana glared at her. Quinn smirked and raised a challenging eyebrow at her. "Santana was just getting emotional about how much she loves you," she said.

"I was not!" Santana cried, frowning. "I was just – "

"She was almost about to cry," the blonde interrupted.

"I wasn't," Santana exclaimed, feeling Rachel stand up next to her and pull on her arm until she rose. "I wasn't," she repeated.

Quinn stood up, too. "I think I'm going to leave you two here and go reintroduce myself to the man with the alcohol," she told the two brunettes. As Rachel took Santana's hand and started leading her away, Quinn turned back around to face them. "Sometimes, she thinks she doesn't deserve you, Rachel," she said. "And I'm pretty sure you have a novel written about everything wrong with that idea."

"Santana?" Rachel asked softly, her voice a low murmur.

"Rachel, I –"

"Come dance with me, sweetie," Rachel smiled.

Santana took a deep breathe and let Rachel lead her on to the dance floor. They found their place among the other couples dancing and their bodies melded together. They were both wearing heels, but Rachel's were much higher than Santana's and the two women were almost at eye level with one another. Santana held Rachel as close as she could, letting everything that was familiar and amazing about her girlfriend wash over her.

"I'm really proud of you, too," she heard Rachel say breathily against her neck. "I know how hard you've been working to save up the money to pay for school."

Santana nodded, leaning her head against Rachel's as a slow song started up. When she decided that she wanted to go to college, she had been adamant that even though they were a couple with a joint bank account and bills and records with both of their names on them, she was going to be the one to pay for her education. Santana would always be grateful for Rachel's willingness to use their joint- _everything_ to pay for school, but she still wanted to do something on her own. She ended up getting a second job and working during Rachel's long rehearsal hours, leaving them with roughly the same schedule. So when Santana finally got a chance to stop working and breathe, it usually coincided with when Rachel got a chance to stop working and breathe, and they could lay down and just breathe together.

"I just hope I don't fail and withdraw during my first semester," Santana said, trying to pretend like she was kidding. "It's been a while since I've done that whole school thing, and I wasn't that great at it back in the day."

Rachel spun Santana away from her playfully. "Well, I can always help you with your homework if you want," she laughed.

Santana let the other woman pull her back towards her. "Ms. Berry, can I stay after class? I really need your help with this assignment," she said, dropping her chin and looking up at Rachel through her lashes.

Rachel lifted Santana's chin, staring at her earnestly and with great tenderness. The mood between them shifted and Santana realized as she stared at Rachel that they had stopped dancing. Somewhere in between dancing and flirting, something had changed and Santana could tell from the look on Rachel's face that it was serious. She had on that same determined face she always got when she had something important to say, but there was a softness there and Santana was sure that it was about to engulf her.

"You're wrong," Rachel started. "You know that I love you. And the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe I'm destined to marry you."

Santana gaped. Some of Rachel's words were so similar to the ones she had shouted at Santana ten –eleven? – years ago, but they had come so far and changed so much and all she could do was just stare at the woman in front of her. She knew that Rachel's wording was intentional and that fact just made her words all the more powerful. The softness on Rachel's face really did seem to engulf her, then, and so Santana did the only thing she could think of, the only thing that she could ever do when Rachel swept her off her feet. She kissed her and wrapped her arms around her and held her close and tried not to cry because as far as they had come in six long years, sometimes, Rachel still found ways to surprise her.

* * *

Santana Lopez went to bed every night with the words of Rachel Berry ringing in her ears. She would take a deep breathe, close her eyes, and wrap an arm around Rachel's waist. She would lay her head on Rachel's shoulder and drift off to sleep with the feeling of Rachel's fingers running through her hair.

" _The truth is, Santana, I love you."_


End file.
